


ghost of mine

by Tinsel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Horcruxes, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Possession, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 84,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinsel/pseuds/Tinsel
Summary: A few weeks into his arrival at Twelve Grimmauld Place, Harry found a locket.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's been a long time since I've posted anything on here. While mostly canon-compliant at the start, there are a few things that I have changed, both small details and larger ideas from canon that will show up throughout the story.  
I have some of it already written, so I should be able to update regularly until I run out of pre-written chapters.

The day Harry found the locket was like any other at 12 Grimmauld Place. He had spent the morning with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny cleaning out one of the many rooms filled to the brim with filth. It was late afternoon by the time they had begun to get a handle on it, sorting what seemed to be an endless supply of long-forgotten knickknacks and crumbling furniture into vague piles. Even the room itself seemed spoiled all the way down to the rotting baseboards and the blue mildew that crawled up the walls like bruised skin. 

The whole house, really, felt as though something was wrong with it. Harry had sensed it when he had first stepped in through the door weeks before. The house was filled with windows that never seemed to let in enough light and the pale, glistening candles lining the hallways were always lit. There was a smell like something was rotting deep within the walls, an ugly, infectious taint. Like something had gotten stuck and died, and now no one could find the source of it. Not that anyone else seemed to notice the smell or the unease the house made Harry feel. He was alone in that, like many of the problems he had that summer. He was isolated, trapped in his own turmoil. Even after his trial was over and he knew he was returning to Hogwarts, that sense of danger never faded. 

On the really bad days, he felt as though the taint wasn’t coming from the house at all, but from inside his own head, where a connection stretched from his mind to Voldemort’s. And Voldemort was seeping in; his temper, his instability, his lust for control and power. Harry made his way through those long days of cleaning constantly on edge with feelings that weren’t his own. Unfortunately, as he had found out early into the summer, it was impossible to control a temper that wasn’t his, and now he was surrounded not by people who hated him back, but by people who loved and were concerned about him, which made it all the harder when he’d snap at them like a rabid animal. He felt trapped, he didn’t want to tell anyone about the connection between Voldemort and himself, but he couldn’t find any way of solving the problem on his own.

He stewed in his own silence for days on end, cleaning out one disgusting room after another–until he saw the locket dangling off the side of one of the piles they had deemed _trash _but not _dangerous_. He had been cleaning out a desk that was home to angry, shrieking doxies and bits of smudged parchment, one hand holding doxycide and the other slowly moving the pieces of old literature to the pile when something gold caught his eye. 

Harry moved closer to dump his armload full of trash onto the pile and to steal a glance. The chain attached to the locket was rusted over, and the locket itself was dull and unpolished, covered in scratches. Harry found the gems forming the _ S _ to be gaudy, yet he found his fingers outstretched anyway, wrapping around its top where rusted chain met scratched metal. Suddenly, that feeling of unease and the nauseating sensation of Voldemort’s anger disappeared. He nearly cried out. The pulsating, unstable emotions of the man he was connected to was muted at last. He had almost forgotten how it had felt before Voldemort had risen out of that enormous cauldron, resurrected. 

Somehow...the locket was protecting him. Harry had never had an interest in jewelry, but it felt like the greatest treasure he had ever found. The locket disappeared into his pocket a moment later, with none the wiser. It wasn’t as though anyone would care if he took it, but he felt inexplicably guilty. 

The rest of the day he spent waiting for someone to notice that he’d taken it, jumpy and tense, but that itch of rage that had laid about unpleasantly since the summer had begun was gone. It was the best he had felt in months, and it was all thanks to a tiny piece of unwanted jewelry. 

Still, Harry’s thoughts rolled around miserably on the issue for days. The locket was going to be thrown out anyway, yet Harry still took it without asking. He’d stolen it, palmed it, and hidden it away like a thief. Harry wondered if Ron or Hermione would feel as guilty about it as he did, his thoughts tumbling through false, made up narratives if he ever got caught with it. Of the many lies the Dursleys loved to accuse him of, by far Petunia’s favorite was criminal. Harry looked the part, short and skinny and dressed terribly in too-large clothes and cheap, taped-up glasses. He made a terrible first impression, and the neighbors Petunia gossiped with already knew all about him. He hadn’t stolen anything from them though, despite what the occupants of Privet Drive thought. Harry was no crook, but he couldn’t stop hearing Petunia’s shrill voice inside his head screaming _thief _anyway.

The locket laid burning a hole in his pocket day after day, and Harry only took it out when the house had gone dark and silent for the day, with Ron was fast asleep. He would turn it over his fingers above his head, trying to understand how it was keeping the connection to Voldemort at bay. As the days passed, something about it began to change. It looked shinier maybe, or the chain was less rusted. Or perhaps it always looked that way. Harry found it hard to remember what it had looked like before, but when he held the locket, skin to cool metal, he felt the tension in his body fade away. 

It was no secret to anyone living in Grimmauld that summer that Harry’s temper was far worse than it had ever been. He’d been furious with Ron and Hermione for leaving him in the dark, but with Voldemort’s temper seeping into his own feelings his anger had only amplified. He’d sent them letter after letter, desperate for answers, for comfort, but received nothing but half-hearted, vague two-sentence notes in return. It had been difficult trying to wrap his head around the events of the months before entirely alone. He watched Cedric die behind his eyelids over and over. 

Then dementors had appeared and nearly killed Dudley and him, and then there was a trial–one where Dumbledore never once looked nor spoke a single word to him. Harry was angry about that too, but more than that, he felt upset. He wondered bitterly if Dumbledore could no longer stand the sight of him after the events that had transpired at the end of last year.

Worse still, though, worse than the awkward, stilted conversations he had with his friends, was when Harry fell asleep. He was transported in his dreams hundreds of miles away to a body not his own, where Harry would spend hours imprisoned inside Voldemort’s mind as he terrified and tortured his own followers. He came to a chilling realization the longer he unwillingly spent time there; it was as though the body built inside the cauldron that night was built _wrong_. The man wasn’t just cruel, he was utterly unhinged. The brutality, the unpredictability, and the all-consuming rage–all of it had once seeped into Harry’s own feelings without a single obstacle to stop it. But it was different with the locket, Voldemort’s emotions felt distant and very far away, and it was so, so exhausting to live with it otherwise. So despite the locket being clearly enchanted, cast away in a house filled with dark magic and cursed objects, he couldn’t afford to throw it away. Harry needed the locket.

* * *

Ron was still fast asleep when Harry woke in the morning with only a flash of bright, red hair peeking out from a lump of blankets. Harry’s head was throbbing with pain as he sat up in his bed, clutching his forehead. Voldemort was angry about something, but he was always angry about something. He shoved his hand quickly into his pocket and yanked the locket out, holding it tightly between his fingers. Slowly, the anger leeched away, and Harry nearly felt calm again. The lump in his throat, the tightening of his jaw, the burning of his belly–the sensations of anger had become all too familiar to him that summer. Harry glanced bleary-eyed over at his friend, who he knew would probably sleep for as long as any of them let him. A few days before, Ron had been woken by his brothers, which they all learned immediately of when he began shouting and thumping around trying to catch them. With Fred and George now allowed to do magic during the summer, however, this was quickly proven impossible.

Harry’s attention slid back to his friend as Ron muttered something incoherent, muffled by the sheets and rolled over onto his side, foot sticking out from under the blanket. Harry stifled a laugh and slipped off the bed quietly, grabbing what looked to be clean clothes from off the floor, and headed for the bathroom outside their room. Fifteen minutes later, the hot shower had lessened his headache, washed the feverish sweat from his body, and left him feeling hungry instead of sickened. He tucked the locket back into his pocket, wishing not for the first time that he didn’t have this overwhelming sense of guilt about it, and trudged back into the bedroom he shared with Ron. He threw his dirty laundry into the bin, grabbed his glasses from the table next to his bed, and nudged the lump of blankets as he passed back to the door.

“Ron, it’s morning,” Harry said loudly, “Ron.”

His soft nudges turned into a shove until Ron’s head popped out of the blankets, eyes still half-closed and grumbling.

“What do you want?” He slurred, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“It’s breakfast time. You better wake up before Fred or George do it for you.”

Ron’s eyes popped open, and he jolted up and out of the bed, lightning-fast. “They think because they have an apparition license they can do whatever they bloody well want...” He muttered as he pawed clumsily around his bed to pick up some of his own clothing, and disappeared out into the hallway. Harry was left standing in the room, a sudden burst of laughter escaping his lips. He hadn’t expected Ron to get up so quickly, even with his weak threats. He shook his head before following his friend out the door, but turned down the hall instead toward the staircase. 

When he arrived downstairs a few minutes later, he was met with the sight of Hermione, nose in a book, all but ignoring the rest of those sitting down to eat. Mrs. Weasley bustled in and out of the kitchen, floating breakfast into the dining room. A few order members Harry didn’t recognize were already at the table talking amongst themselves. 

“Oh, there you are, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said when she noticed him standing in the doorway. “I didn’t see you, dear. Take a seat and have some breakfast. You’ll be cleaning out the attic today so it’s important to eat well. Goodness knows you need it.”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said glumly, his mouth curving downwards as he found a seat next to Hermione. She had put her book down to spoon eggs onto her plate, and the two of them shared a commiserating look of misery. 

Things had been...well not bad exactly, but certainly awkward between the three of them since Harry had gotten back from the Dursleys. Ron, for as smart as he was for strategy, didn’t catch on as easily when it came to emotional problems. He rarely picked up on the undertones of tension Harry had when he spoke to his two oldest friends. Hermione, however, had noticed it right away, which led to them only speaking about what Harry thought of as safe subjects. Homework, cleaning, the inhabitants in Grimmauld, but nothing about Voldemort or Cedric or the way the Daily Prophet seemed determined to have Harry come out the other side of the summer as a delusional child looking for attention. 

He wasn’t even mad at them per se, and the anger he felt when he had first arrived had only been heightened by the bleed-through of Voldemort’s emotions. It still hurt when he thought of them all but ignoring the content of his letters though, as Harry had only wanted a connection to a world he’d been completely cut off from after experiencing one of the worst days of his life. 

It wasn’t even their fault apparently, as it had been Dumbledore who had told them to keep quiet, that it was for his own good, that it would be dangerous if their owls were shot down and their letters were taken. He understood why Dumbledore had done it too, but as he was learning, knowing something was right and feeling positively about it were two separate things. Time was helping to mend his animosity towards the two, and with the trial over and fewer things to worry about, their relationship was nearly back to normal, though it could still be awkward occasionally. It was why he sat quietly, though comfortably next to Hermione without speaking. 

“Wotcher, Harry,” Tonk greeted him from above his head, and he turned sideways on the bench as she took a seat across from him. 

“Hey Tonks,” Harry said, heaping two fried eggs and a piece of toast onto his plate. He took a bite out of the toast, and a forkful of runny egg too. There was at least one other positive from escaping the Dursleys; he didn’t have to eat burnt scraps or only grapefruit, or whatever diet Petunia had them on that summer. 

“Nothing’s better than a full night’s rest,” Tonk said with a wide yawn. “All nighters and I just don’t get on, you know?” 

Harry mumbled an acknowledgment, mouth still stuffed with food. The older witch turned away, starting up a conversation with one of the other order members and relief filled his thoughts. He liked Tonks just fine, but he still felt awkward when talking with her, or any of the order members for that matter. Most of the conversations he had with them seemed to skirt around the unknown job he wasn’t allowed to know about, or stilted, shallow dialogue about his parents. 

After a few minutes, Sirius joined them at the table, patting Harry on the shoulder in greeting as he found a place to sit. Remus came in soon after, taking a seat next to him. Ginny arrived next, plunking down at the table, eyes still half-closed, her mouth curved into a frown. 

“Mum, Ron’s taking all the time in the bathroom again,” she complained, “What’s he doing in there anyway? He’s a boy.”

Mrs. Weasley came out from the kitchen, porridge floating onto Ginny’s plate. 

“Ginny, it’s hardly the only bathroom in the house. There’s one just down the hallway to the right if you really can’t wait.” 

“But–”

“Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said, clearly exasperated. “Please if you must, talk to your brother, not me. I’m busy.”

Ginny stabbed her spoon into her porridge, clearly unhappy with this response. “But I already have,” she muttered, too quiet for Mrs. Weasley to hear. Harry fought to keep his face straight, as knowing her brother, Ginny could be waiting for a long time. 

He suddenly thought about how nice it seemed to have someone to complain to about silly things. His eyes wandered down the table to where Sirius was sitting, leaned over and laughing in Remus’s ear. 

It wasn’t perfect between them; there was something unstable about his godfather, something taken by years locked away with dementors feeding off his soul. Sirius seemed to be as frustrated and sir-crazed as Harry was unsettlingly quick to anger these days. He clearly loathed the house he’d grown up in, a house he’d escaped from and now was stuck inside, but he was trying for Harry, even through his mountain of issues. It was one thing to have his godfather be an occasional face in the fire, or a filthy, matted dog living off of rats, and another to have the man be there in the flesh, looking mostly healthy again. It was one of the only good things that had come out of the summer. 

After breakfast, Harry headed up the stairs, wondering if he should knock on the bathroom door to see if Ron was going to ever emerge. Before he could get to their floor however, he nearly tripped into Fred, who was rounding the corner.

“Merlin’s pants,” Harry choked out, narrowly missing falling down the steps. “You two need a bell or something.”

George stepped out behind his brother, a sharp grin curving his mouth. “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he said, jerking a thumb up the stairs. “Give it oh–five minutes or so.”

Harry stared up the staircase, a bad feeling settling in his gut. “Don’t tell me you pranked Ron again.”

“We admit to nothing,” Fred said breezily. “Now if you’d excuse us, we have breakfast to get to.” They slid past him quickly, darting onto the next set of stairs before Harry could get another word in. Harry sighed and began up the steps again, steeling himself for whatever chaos the two of them had unleashed. He didn’t get very far; the moment his foot hit the hallway, he heard footsteps coming up from behind him. He turned on a heel, bracing for mischief, but it was only Hermione, her arms full of books.

“There you are, Harry,” she said, and she sounded relieved, shooting him an uncertain smile. “Mrs. Weasley wants us to get started on the attic now if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry said, “I was heading to see if Ron was up yet, but I suppose we could just head up there now.”

Hermione’s nose wrinkled, her eyes darting back down the stairs. “Those two looked way too pleased with themselves.”

“Yeah I think they got him again,” Harry said, as they began to walk down the hallway. “That’s the second time this week.” 

“I’m honestly surprised Mrs. Weasley hasn’t banned their inventions yet.”

“She has,” Harry said with a low laugh and Hermione nearly stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Well, of course they wouldn’t listen,” she said with a sigh. She fidgeted with a bookmark stuck in the book on top of her stack, eyes shifting between him and in front of her. 

“They don’t listen to anyone,” Harry said, his voice keeping even as his worry grew. She was acting strangely, and he knew instinctively it was about him. 

“That’s true,” Hermione said, and took a deep breath. “Look Harry, can we talk?”

He grimaced, not looking at her. “About what?”

“You know… it’s about the letters,” Hermione said softly, wringing her hands. “I know we hurt you by not sending you more. At the time I really thought it was for the best.”

Harry’s mouth curled into a snarl unthinkingly, a harsh sound ringing in his ears. “Thought it for best, did you?” 

“Harry, please,” she pleaded, her fingers curling into fists under the stack of books. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I thought we were protecting you. You already had so much to deal with, I thought it would be better to lesson it, even if by a little–”

“That’s not really for you to decide though, now is it?” Harry snapped, his voice growing louder. The ringing had turned into a roar, and he realized it was his blood rushing in his ears, his scar beginning to burn. “You don’t know what it was like, thinking at first it was just part of the task before Cedric was suddenly lying there still. My head was hurting so much I hardly realized what had happened. He was dead, and I could do nothing but stand there and watch until I could escape!” 

He sucked in a breath, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. Anger was unfurling under his skin like a poison. Hermione stood watching him, eyes widened and features frozen in horror. Harry slipped a hand into his pocket, grasping the locket in a desperate bid for relief. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted,” Harry murmured after a moment. “It’s just, for the first month of summer, I was stuck with the Dursleys, and all they did was yell at me or taunt me. I was having nightmares, talking in my sleep, which they thought was just the funniest thing.” He rubbed at his eyes from under his glasses, beginning to regret ever opening his mouth. “Your letters were the only way I had to talk to someone, but none of you ever answered any of my questions or wrote anything important. I just wanted to know what was happening, but none of you told me anything. It was as though the last month hadn’t existed at all, that Cedric dying meant nothing–”

Hermione let out a soft gasp, shocking him into silence. 

“Harry,” she said gently, quietly, as though speaking to a wounded animal. “I hadn’t realized–I’m so sorry.”

Her features were an open book; her eyes widened, her mouth curved mournfully. He knew she was telling the truth as she had no reason to lie, and Harry knew his anger had stayed past its welcome. He was tired of feeling angry at her for nothing. 

“You don’t have to be,” Harry said after a long, silent pause. “I know it’s not even your fault, Dumbledore told you to do it.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione corrected unthinkingly before her face turned blotchy. “I mean–”

Harry laughed hollowly, though there were no real negative feelings in it. Hermione tucked some of her hair behind her ear, staring steadily back at him. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t,” Harry said and looked down at the floor. He didn’t know how to talk about things like this without feeling stifled and stiff, his limbs feeling wooden. 

Hermione laughed shakily, floundering, her lips parting, as though she were about to speak, when footsteps came thundering down the hall.

“Blast it all!” Ron roared, as he turned the corner. Hermione quickly covered her mouth with her hand, while Harry pressed his lips shut. Ron slowed to a halt in front of them, pointing towards his head. “This is the last straw. If they think I’ll keep quiet about this and let it go–” 

“Courtesy of Fred and George?” Harry managed, keeping his expression straight. Ron snarled wordlessly. 

“Apparently,” Ron said, dragging out the word, “It will grow back, free of charge.”

Harry stared at the bald patch on his friend's head, trying his best not to laugh. “How did they get you, anyway?”

Fire lit in Ron’s eyes, and his hands clenched at his sides. “They did something to my hairbrush. One moment, I was combing my hair, and the next it was trying to rip my bloody hair out. I ended up having to chuck it into a bin just to get it to stop trying to attack me.”

“Thats–” Harry thought keeping his opinion to himself was wise, though he found the magic at least a little impressive. “Horrible of them. You should go tell your mum.”

Ron snorted, “And show this off to the entire bloody household?” He touched the spot faintly, his face going white. “I’d be mental.” 

“I think it looks fantastic. Very handsome,” a voice said, coming up the hall.

“Oh you do, do you?” Ron snarled, turning on a dime towards his sister. “If they did this to you, you’d kill them.”

Ginny laughed unashamedly, her eyes glittering sharply with glee. “Unlike you, I’m not pathetic enough to get caught by one of their little jokes.”

“Pathetic–?” Ron started, and then smiled just as horribly. “You little brat!”

Ron lunged forward, reaching for his sister as she darted out of the way while giggling, and behind her approaching brothers. Ron’s face darkened.

“It looks good on you, Ronniekins,” George said with a grin, arm slung over Fred’s shoulder. “You look very dashing.” 

“Oh piss off,” Ron spat, stepping forward. “You two couldn’t be more of worse nuisances.”

“I don’t know, George,” Fred said while ignoring him, his head tilting side to side. “I think he might look better if it were all shaved off.”

Ron’s hand flew to his head and he glared at them, patting his hair as though to make sure it was all still there. “Don’t you dare.”

The twins looked between one other, smiles growing wide. George opened his mouth to speak, but before that, Hermione said in a very innocent tone, “If we’re all here, let's get started cleaning the attic.”

There were two twin cracks as Fred and George disapparated a moment later, leaving the four of them behind in the hallway, Ron still panting with rage. 

“You can always count on them running at the first hint of manual labor,” Hermione said dryly, and adjusted her grip on the stack of books. “Come on, we might as well get started.” 

“I’d rather not,” Ginny said, groaning as she started up the steps. “But the sooner we start the sooner we’re free for the day.” She sent a sly look towards her brother. “Maybe by the time we finish, that will have grown back.”

“Oh be quiet already, I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet,” Ron muttered, but followed after the rest of them. 

After slogging up several flights of stairs, they finally reached the attic. It was dusty as all the rooms in Grimmauld were, and covered in grime, cobwebs, and dead insects. 

“It’s filthy,” Ginny said cheerfully.

“It’s disgusting,” Hermione said, sounding far less happy. She set her books down at the base of the entrance.

“Let’s all take a corner,” Ron said, and grabbed a broom hanging from the door. None of them particularly enjoyed cleaning, but they had found rather quickly that the faster they got through their work, the more time they had to themselves. Harry had cleaned out a room nearly every day since he’d arrived, but the end never seemed in sight. There were only more bedrooms that needed cleaning, more parlors and living spaces that needing mopping and dusting. 

“Wow, they weren’t lying, it really did grow back,” Ginny said sometime later, leaning against her broom to catch her breath. Ron stopped mid sweep and reached for his hair, his features darkening when he found nothing but smooth skin.

“Ginny,” Ron said slowly, gritting his teeth. “If it wasn’t faster with you here…”

His threat didn’t seem to do much; Ginny only laughed harder.

“This would be so much faster if Fred and George were here,” Hermione said, between breaths as she carried an armful of clutter over to the pile she had deemed trash. “We could have finished hours ago.”

Harry snorted. “Those two wouldn’t dare be caught cleaning. Just give it up.”

“I’ll be telling Mrs. Weasley that tonight,” Hermione muttered, as she did nearly every day. It didn’t seem to help much. They slowly got back to work, Harry’s thoughts circling around to what he’d seen in the vision he had that night, watching Voldemort’s snake swallow a man’s arm while the man himself watched, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He’d been silent, but his shoulder, spewing with blood, made it very clear that it was as painful as it had looked. The worst of it was that it wasn’t even the cruelest act he’d seen from Voldemort that summer. 

After a few hours had passed, Ron disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a sandwich and a few apples he shared with them. They could break for lunch but none of them felt inclined to do so, nor felt all that hungry. Cleaning up a room as disgusting as the attic destroyed what little appetite Harry had. 

A few hours later, Ron slapped his hands and dusted them off, hanging the broom back on the door. “Finally we’re finished. I’m famished.” 

“Your hair grew back nicely,” Ginny said sweetly from across the room, and Ron whipped around, looking murderous even as he reached for his head and felt newly regrown hair. 

“I should have known you were in on it,” He growled, shaking a finger with his other hand towards his sister, though he looked far less angry than he had at the beginning of the day. “No loyalty in this family, none at all.”

Ginny burst into loud, flagrant snickering, holding a hand up to her mouth. “I wasn’t in on anything, you great, bleeding prat. It’s just hilarious to watch you lose your mind over small stuff like this.”

“Small stuff?” Ron repeated, his face turning red with rage. “Small stuff?”

“Food sounds great,” Harry said loudly to Hermione. “I’m gonna head down.”

“I’ll join you,” Hermione said quickly, and grabbed her stack of books. They hurried out of the attic and into the hallway, where they exchanged glances before laughing as quietly as they could over the shouting above them.

“She’s more like Fred and George than the rest of the family,” Hermione whispered to him, as they darted down the hall. “I’ve never really spent time with her before this summer, but she’s really quite funny to be around.”

“You’d have to be thick to pick a fight with her,” Harry said with another burst of laughter. “Merlin, did you see Ron’s face? He looked angrier at her than he did at Fred and George. She knows exactly what to say to push him over the edge.”

“I feel a bit bad you know, laughing like this…” Hermione said, looking around furtively. “I don’t think what Fred and George did to him was very funny.”

“I guess you’re right,” Harry agreed a bit reluctantly. “We can’t even do magic here to get back at them, and I don’t want to admit it but honestly he’s a bit of an easy mark when he gets winded up like that. I wasn’t lying though when I said I was hungry. We worked through lunch.”

“I guess that’s what having siblings is like though,” Hermione said with a soft laugh, and looked down at her watch, tapping at the glass. “It’s five-thirty. I bet food’s already on the table for the order members who work nights.” 

“Well thank Merlin for that,” Harry said as they neared the end of the decrepit hallway and started down the stairs to the lower floors.

Hermione was right, dinner was already on the table when they arrived, seats filled with order members, some of whom Harry hadn’t met yet. After a few awkward introductions, he crammed into a spot with Hermione, and began to stuff his mouth with food. His patience for interacting with new people quickly wore thin when all they seemed to want to do was offer condolences, the same empty platitudes for parents Harry didn’t remember. It felt maddening; he wished they’d say the same for Cedric instead. At least Harry knew the boy, grieved for him after he was murdered right in front of his eyes.

A glass on the shelf behind him cracked suddenly and Harry knew it had been him somehow, and desperately hoped no one had noticed. The room was thankfully too loud, too full of voices for anyone but Hermione to nudge him in the side, her expression taut with worry. He shrugged, but even he didn’t understand what he meant by it. After a few minutes, Harry finished eating and slipped out the door, down through the hallway and into a near-empty room, recently scrubbed clean. He felt panicky with clammy hands and too-cold skin. 

He pulled the locket from his pocket and held it up to one of the candles; it nearly looked polished now, golden colored and gleaming as his fear slowly dissipated. For a moment, Harry wondered how the calming enchantment worked. Was it like a calming potion, a cheering charm; muting negative emotions but leaving them there under a layer of magic? He felt a split second of concern, remembering where the locket had come from, thinking about all the warnings he’d heard about cursed jewelry. 

Then he was reminded of how he’d felt before he’d found it, that raw, explosive anger that never went away, and decided to ignore it. 


	2. Chapter 2

In the weeks that followed, the tension between Harry and his friends slowly eased, and it began to feel as though things were finally going back to normal between them. He had a realization one muggy, summer night, while laying about in the living room and listening to something on the radio. It had been days since he’d last thought of Cedric; this being remarkable in that he’d spent the first month of the summer thinking of nothing _but _ Cedric. The nightmares he had of him were slowly fading as well, though they only seemed to be replaced by Harry getting trapped for hours in Voldemort’s mind instead. Most mornings he would wake in a cold sweat, Voldemort’s laughter still ringing in his ears. Harry tried very hard not to think about what he had seen in those dreams. 

Still, without the constant weight of Voldemort’s emotions weighing down on him, his dark mood was slowly lifting. The locket seemed to be able to keep out all but the worst of Voldemort’s thoughts and anger, though if he were truly furious about something, Harry still paid for it in way of his scar searing with pain. 

It felt heavenly not reacting to every comment directed at him as though it were a personal insult, though at times Harry wondered if this was truly how Voldemort felt all the time. It seemed rather exhausting for someone who never slept. 

Early into his arrival at Grimmauld, Sirius had taken notice of his mood and had given him a book on combative magic, hoping Harry might find at least some interest in it. He wasn’t a big reader, but the encyclopedia of jinxes, hexes and defensive counterspells was something he found himself flipping through nearly every night before he went to bed. Other than assigned reading for Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, he’d never looked any further into it or dueling, something the book touched on as well. 

Outside of the time he spent at night reading, most of his days were spent cleaning one room at a time in a never-ending series of them. Harry was finding it to be a lot like spending summer at the Dursleys, only he was allowed to eat actual meals and his friends were around. It wasn’t a terrible way to spend his summer vacation, but in the back of Harry’s mind he mourned the previous years where he and Ron had messed around on broomsticks and occasionally de-gnomed the garden. 

The matter of the locket was far less simple. After a week of successfully hiding it, Harry’s dread of someone seeing it began to wane, as did his guilt. It was a curious thing; for days the full weight of his guilt had been nearly too much, but when he woke one morning, it had seemingly disappeared overnight. Not that he thought _ too _ much about this, as he had more entertaining things to do. 

But the locket _ was _curious. Sometime over the course of the first week he had it, it began to lose its cheap, unpolished look. It had cleaned up so much now it looked like it could be something Harry would find wrapped around some pureblood’s neck. Harry figured most of its previous grime had simply been dirt he had rubbed off from it laying in his pocket all day. He almost expected to turn out his pants and find dust flying out of its pockets the next time he washed them. 

The locket itself was a gleaming gold now, and the green gems depicting the single ‘_S _’ glittered brightly under candlelight. Though usually, Harry had no interest in jewelry, he had to admit the locket was at least nice to look at now. 

With the days counting down to when they would be leaving for Hogwarts again, it was all any of them could think about. Harry spent most of his time during cleaning daydreaming about Quidditch, or exploring the nooks and crannies of the abandoned hallways and classrooms in the school. He thought about relaxing next to the lake again, visiting Hagrid, even seeing some of his other housemates like Neville again. Anything to get out of the musty old house, which was feeling less and less like a vacation house and more like a prison. Harry was beginning to understand how Sirius felt, who seemed less than pleased with him going back to Hogwarts. Hermione told him his godfather simply felt lonely, and Harry found himself agreeing with her, as much as it hurt him to admit it. He loved his godfather almost instantly from the moment they’d met, but the man was sometimes hard to be around when he was in a mood. 

“I just wish we could go to Diagon Alley, at least,” Harry heard Ron mutter one afternoon, as they were soaping down the walls in one of the upper rooms. Before they had ventured in a few hours before, the walls had been covered in grime and mold. Now, most of the walls were a pleasing yellow, though the other half were still stained with muck. 

“I’d like to visit that quidditch shop there,’ Harry said without thinking, and Ron smacked his towel down.

“Exactly,” he said passionately. “We’ve been stuck in this dump cleaning for _ weeks_. Why is it that we can't even have a single day off?”

“You know why,” Hermione said dryly, a few feet away with her own washcloth. “It’s too dangerous. We don’t know what Voldemort’s up to.”

Ron winced as she said his name, going back to wiping the walls without a word.

“Voldemort’s in hiding,” Harry said after a moment. “Honestly Ron’s right, we could all do with a day off. It’s not as though he’s gonna pop into Diagon Alley and start shooting the killing curse at random, now is he?”

“He might not, but his followers would,” Hermione snapped back. “I feel trapped in here too, but I understand why we’re stuck here at the very least. I’ve been reading a lot on the first war this summer, and toward the end of the war, many of the Death Eaters didn’t even try to hide who they were. They didn’t care if they were seen; if they were sent to Azkaban, Voldemort would simply have the dementors let them out. The Ministry itself was filled with his followers, and there were very few still in power who wouldn’t yield even if they didn’t support him entirely. Trust me, Harry, some of them wouldn’t think twice about attacking you now that their ‘lord’ has returned.”

His fingernails cut painfully into his skin, and though he felt significantly chagrined, frustration still bubbled to the surface. “Maybe it’s worth it for me, even if it’s stupid then. I want out of this blasted place,” Harry snapped, his towel falling into his bucket of muddy water. “I’d rather be at the Dursley’s than here, at least I’d be allowed to go outside–”

“You do not,” Ron interrupted him suddenly, and Harry found his anger deflating like a punctured balloon.

“I don’t,” Harry echoed miserably. Then, quieter this time, “Sorry for yelling.” He picked up his towel and went back to running it over the wall, hearing Hermione sigh behind him.

“I understand, I really do,” she said simply. “I’d rather not be scrubbing walls either.”

“No one wants to scrub walls,” Ginny said opposite them, silent up till now. “Mum’s been on a bloody warpath trying to keep us in the dark about everything. We’re all too tired by the time we finish to go snooping, so I suppose her plan is successful.”

They all groaned at that, but they could do nothing about it but get back to work. 

Later at dinner, Harry found himself watching the comings and goings of order members, slowly lifting spoonfuls of potato cream soup into his mouth. So far, Mrs. Weasley hadn’t told him to leave yet, but he could see she was getting impatient. He’d counted eight order members come and go, in for a quick report before going back to work. Harry wished more than ever that he was one of them. At least he’d be allowed to leave the house.

Harry caught the word ‘Malfoy’ a few minutes later and swung his head violently towards the sound, finding Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye leaning over the table, their faces looking as though they were shaped from stone. Mrs. Weasley seemed to have finally had enough and tapped his shoulder.

“Harry dear,” she said kindly but firmly, “If you’re finished with your dinner, it’s time you leave the dining room.”

For a moment, Harry considered arguing, telling her he should be allowed to sit in and listen, considering Voldemort wanted him dead so badly. Then he looked into her eyes, finding something brittle and very scared there, and went put his dishes in the sink instead. He wandered into one of the living rooms the younger crowd had taken over, and plopped into a chair with a sigh. 

“Lasted a whole sixteen minutes.”

“Impressive. Last time we hung around mum kicked us out in a minute flat.”

Harry rolled onto his back, staring up into two identical grins. “It was worth a shot.”

“Right,” Ginny snorted from the couch across from them. “Mum would never forget that you were there. Eyes in the back of her head.”

Harry rubbed his eyes, pulling his glasses from his face and placing them on the side table. “That sounds nice.”

“Do you think they’ll ever let us in there?” Ron asked from a chair next to him, “I mean they have to once we’re above age, right?” 

“That hasn’t stopped dear mum with us, now has it?” George said. “In the eyes of the law we’re adults, but in the eyes of our mother…”

Harry leaned up, sending a glance around the room. “Where’s Hermione? Figured she’d be here reading.”

“No idea,” Ron said with a shrug. “She said she was checking on something a while ago, and hasn’t returned.”

Harry laid back down on the couch with a sigh. “Merlin, there's really nothing to do here, is there?”

“We could play hide and seek,” Ginny said across from him, and Ron immediately scoffed. 

“I’m not playing a child’s game,” Ron said darkly. “Rather lay here and stare at the wall.”

There were suddenly twin sets of laughs above his head. “Only proving how young you are, Ronikins. So desperate to be an adult.” 

“Oh piss off,” Ron snapped, turning away so he didn’t need to look at them. 

Harry thought it might be fun in an old, dreary house like Grimmauld, not to mention he’d only ever played Dudley’s version, which seemed to be comprised of the seek out and then ‘beat until bloody’. But if Ron didn’t want to play then he didn’t feel very much like it either.

Harry leaped to his feet, running his hand over the table until he found his glasses, and felt the world sharpen into view again when he put them on. “Gonna go read then,” he said simply.

“Merlin’s beard, his boredom is so terrible he’d rather read!” He heard Fred say airly from behind him as he left the room, but didn’t bother to respond. He took the stairs two at a time, and arrived at his and Ron’s shared bedroom, flinging himself onto the bed. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing strongly he was already at Hogwarts. 

Rolling back over, Harry reached for the book on his nightstand and flipped through the dog-eared pages until he found the most recent one. He didn’t feel much like reading, but there wasn’t anything better to do. The lack of interest, however, caused Harry to have to reread the same sentence or paragraph several times over until he focused long enough on it. After a little while of this, his scar began to sting, though Harry stubbornly ignored it. At first, the pain was manageable. Then the sting became a burn, then a sharp, cruel pain that had Harry dropping the book and clutching his forehead, gasping for air.

He couldn't think of anything but the pain he was feeling, a raw, throbbing torment that felt like lightning darting over his skin. He ended up curled against the wall, his body shaking and his nails sinking deeply into his forehead. He didn’t dare scream; not wanting to bring any more attention to himself, but it hurt so terribly he could barely breathe through his panicked gasps.

It felt like hours, though it had probably been only a few minutes, when he unwound his body from the wall, slowly dropping his hand. The other, he found, was in his pocket, clutching the locket hard enough he wouldn’t be surprised if it bruised the next day. 

It wasn’t the first or the second or even the third time it had happened that summer; he’d lost count how many times Voldemort’s rage had turned Harry into a gibbering mess. After he’d found the locket, the number of times it had happened had slowed to a near stop, but occasionally he’d still find himself caught somewhere, body wracked with pain. 

That night, he decided to head to bed early, so not even Ron would notice the redness of his scar, or the bright, inflamed marks from his nails. It would be very difficult to try to explain without causing them to worry. If he admitted Voldemort was mad–that for hours every night Harry _ was _ him, what would they think? Harry knew intimately now how it felt to cast curses meant only to cause pain, curses to make a man scream like a stuck pig, and he knew how it felt like to watch someone suffer and _ laugh_. 

In his deepest nightmares, Harry was afraid if they knew the truth, the full truth, they would think him mad too.

* * *

As the days passed, Harry felt more and more stir-crazed, though he wasn’t alone in that. They had exactly one week left until they would be taking the train back to Hogwarts, something Harry was eagerly looking forward to. He had begun to feel so worn out from cleaning every day that he found himself wishing he were nearly anywhere else–at one point thinking he’d even rather be in potions class instead. It felt rather silly to him how exhausted he was of it all, as he’d spent most of his life doing the same for the Dursleys. Cleaning up trash, wiping down furniture, and all the while listening to someone taunt and insult him wasn’t exactly new to him. Kreacher, though he did his best, had nothing on Petunia when she was in a mood. Harry supposed he had hoped a summer away from the Dursley’s, even if it was just half of it, would be different.

One morning, when he’d woken up late and had to rush out of his pajamas and into new clothes, Harry forgot to transfer the locket from one pocket to another. He didn’t notice it was missing until he was halfway down the staircase, catching a flicker of _ how dare you filfth– _ and realized Voldemort’s thoughts seemed a lot closer than they had in weeks. His hand landed on his pocket, finding to his horror that it was empty. Before he could turn around, to head back up towards the second floor, Ron caught sight of him through the crack in the doorway and called him inside. Harry could find no reasonable excuse to _ not _ head immediately into the dining room, so with great reluctance, he sunk down into a spot next to his friend. His eyes darted between the door and the tabletop filled with fried eggs, crispy bacon, toast with various flavors of jam and plain porridge. Hunger won out and he began inhaling food at a nearly disgusting rate. After consuming three eggs, two slices of toast smeared generously with fig jam, and a piece of thick-cut bacon, Harry all but jumped from his seat, hurrying his plate over the sink. 

“What has you in such a hurry?” Hermione asked with a plate in hand, having finished her breakfast at the same time as he had. 

“Nothing,” Harry snapped, his voice trembling defensively. Her mouth curled downward, causing him to feel a twinge of guilt. He scrambled to speak again, “Er–it’s nothing, truly.”

“Right,” Hermione said, looked more bemused than offended now. 

“I’ll–er–meet you all up there,” Harry said, inching his way around her and back into the dining room. Once inside, he heard Mrs. Weasley’s voice say firmly, “Now you six can work on the south-facing room up on the second floor, alright? I won’t have time to come check on you so be sure to do a good job.”

“Yes mum,” Ron said gloomily, as he walked by. “We’ll be sure to make it sparkling clean.”

Harry nearly laughed; Fred and George hadn’t been helping them in weeks, only sticking around long enough if there was something especially interesting they wanted to keep. He didn’t wait for anyone to call him back; he headed out into the corridor toward the stairs. There was something foul hovering under his skin. He felt on edge. 

“Harry, wait up,” Hermione called, slipping in behind him as he reached the staircase. He slowed unwillingly to a near halt. His scar was beginning to sting.

“We’re nearly done with the second floor, there's only the room we’re working on today and the room next to the bedroom Ginny and I are in,” Hermione told him as they walked up the stairs. They nearly reached the top when Fred and George appeared above them, arms full of something Harry could only recognize as candy, though there was nothing very appetizing about them.

“What is that?” Hermione said, nose wrinkling with disgust as a piece dropped from Fred’s haul and was sent spinning towards the staircase. Harry stopped it with his foot without thinking, and picked it up, rolling it between his fingers.

“Er–don’t put it in your mouth,” Fred said hastily and snatched it out of Hary’s hands. 

“Don’t tell mum about it either,” George added, and the two of them started down the stairs together, their footsteps staying noticeably quiet.

“Their mum _ is _ downstairs,” Hermione said, staring after them. “Where do they think they’re going with whatever nonsense they’ve cooked up now?”

“Who knows,” Harry muttered, eyes darting towards his bedroom door. Hermione turned and followed his gaze, her head tilting to the side. “What has you all twitchy? You’ve been acting strangely since breakfast.”

“I’m not twitchy,” Harry replied brusquely, which caused his friend to make a low noise in the back of her throat. “It’s not any of your business anyway.”

“None of my–?” Hermione said indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s going on, Harry?” 

“I said it’s nothing already,” Harry snapped and started for his room, his scar throbbing painfully. A moment later, fingers wrapped around Harry’s wrist, causing him to spin around, face twisting with rage. Not expecting his reaction, Hermione released her grip in surprise, staring wide-eyed at him as he stood similarly frozen. His scar burned red hot a moment later and Harry suddenly found himself crumpling to the ground as an unholy shriek burst from his lips. 

“Harry?” Hermione shouted, but Harry could no longer hear her, instead, a voice rose in the back of his mind. 

_“You have disappointed me...did you really believe Lord Voldemort would not know of your betrayal?” _

“Harry, are you alright?”

_ “Please my lord, please spare me. My son at least is valuable…” _

Fingernails dug painfully into his forehead as he clawed blindly at his scar, desperate for the pain to go away. He could hear from far away, a voice calling him...Harry...Harry…

“Harry!” Hermione said, her voice quavering. It was the fear in her voice that finally allowed him to snap out of Voldemort’s hold, forcing his eyes open to stare into a pair as equally terrified as his own. Getting to his feet made Harry nearly vomit up his recent meal, but he held it back, his legs shaking as he took a few shaky steps forward.

“I’m alright,” Harry croaked, stumbling toward his door until he could reach the latch and push it open. 

“Should I go get someone?” Hermione said behind him, her voice thin and scared. 

“No–just give me a moment,” Harry gasped out, and closed the door behind him. The moment it clicked shut, Harry dove for his pajamas, lying strewn over his bed, the pocket noticeably bulging. Harry reached into the pocket and pulled out the locket, wrapping his fingers tightly around its center. Voldemort’s thoughts and his voice and his rage went silent, and Harry took a long, slow breath of relief before letting the locket slip into his pants pocket. He walked shakily back over to the door. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quickly, after finding Hermione still standing tensely outside. “My scar, it started acting up, I get so angry–”

“I know,” Hermione said, her eyes wide. “Is it okay now?”

Harry realized how terrifying it must have looked for her to see him fall onto the floor like that; to scream and scratch at his own skin. He felt inexplicably guilty. 

“I–” Harry looked away, uncertain about what to tell her. “It’s Voldemort. I think he found a death eater who had been hiding from him. He was...really angry.” Really angry was an understatement; Voldemort’s mind was an unstable mess of violent tendencies and ruthlessness. Having a target to point it at only made it worse. 

Hermione’s face turned white, a hand at her throat. “You mean, even outside of dreams–?”

“Sometimes,” Harry admitted quietly, but hastened to add, “It was only for a few seconds.”

“Maybe you should take a few hours off, to rest for awhile,” Hermione said carefully, “You looked like you were in a lot of pain.”

“It’s alright,” Harry said in a stilted voice. “I can still help.”

“Oi, what’s with all the shouting?” Ron said as he came strolling up the stairs. “Was it the twins again? They’re always up to no good.” Ron stopped as he reached the second floor, taking in their appearances. Between Hermione’s red-rimmed eyes and Harry’s puffy, inflamed scar and blotchy skin they were probably quite the sight.

“What happened up here?” Ron said uncertainly as he hurried toward them.

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly, as Hermione said, “Harry’s scar is hurting him. I think he should take a few hours off today.”

Harry shot her a look of deep betrayal, though she only ignored him. Ron’s attention snapped to him.

“Blimey, you alright?” Ron asked. “It’s fine if you need to have a break. It’s not like we’re doing anything important.”

“I’m fine,” Harry snapped, wincing as pain shot through his scar and his hand raised to it instinctively. Ron stared at him reproachfully, arms crossing over his chest.

“I can see that,” Ron said in a very dry voice. “Take an hour off or something, relax for a bit.”

Harry’s gaze jumped between the two, realizing they wouldn’t budge. He sighed, and though he felt annoyed, there was a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest that came from knowing how much they cared for him.

“Alright, I’ll go sit down somewhere for an hour,” Harry muttered, and turned his back on them, walking toward the staircase. Once downstairs, he wandered in and out of rooms until he arrived inside one that had already been cleared out before he’d been moved to Grimmauld that summer. It was mostly empty, with a few old-fashioned chairs and a small table standing in the middle of it. Along the walls, however, branches were painted in, budding with small, pale, flowers, faded leaves and _ faces. _ Harry peered closer, astonished to find each branch contained a still portrait or two. 

“My family tree.”

Harry looked over his shoulder and found Sirius standing in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets. He turned his attention back to the wall. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Sirius let out a soft breath from behind him. “If the Potter house was still around, you’d have one too. Most purebloods do.”

He blinked, turning his head back around to his godfather. “The Potter house?” He had never heard anything about a house that had belonged to his family other than the one in Godric’s Hollow.

Sirius must have had similar thoughts, for he came further into the room, tracing the wall with his fingers. “It was where your grandparents and ancestors lived for many years. James grew up there, in fact, but it burned down in the war. It’s how Lily and James ended up in Godric's Hollow. The Potter's owned a small property there.”

Harry fell into a chair, feeling as though he’d had the carpet pulled out from under him. “I’ve never been there either,” he said quietly and watched his godfather’s hand clench.

“One day I’ll bring you to see it,” he said, and it sounded like a promise. His face softened moments later when his finger halted on a branch. “Here you are. Harry James Potter, born July 31, 1980. ”

“What?” Harry said, leaping to his feet. “I’m on _ your _ tree?” 

Sirius released a hearty laugh, hand dropping from the wall. “Dorea Black was James's mother, so naturally, you’d be her grandson if she was still alive.” His laughter tapered off. “Good woman she was, rare considering my family.”

Harry suddenly remembered something Sirius had told him earlier in the summer, a detail he hadn’t thought much of until that moment. “You told me you ran away while you were still in Hogwarts.” 

His godfather nodded, his eyes turning back to the tree. “To your father’s house, yes.”

“To your aunt’s house,” Harry breathed. “Is that why–?”

“Why I wasn’t kicked out of the Black family entirely?” Sirius released a bitter laugh. “I’ve always assumed that was part of it. It’s one thing to run away to an unrelated house of ‘muggle lovers’ but quite another to run to the house of another Black. I am still burned off this tree, however.” He tapped his finger over a charred spot on the wall, and Harry could only make out a smudge of _...ius Black_, the name all but burnt away. 

“That’s awful,” Harry said, his voice going soft. He could imagine the Dursleys burning his portrait off the tree with pleasure, if they had one. 

“It is what it is,” Sirius said simply. “I’m not the only one burned off the tree. My cousin Andromeda married a muggleborn right out of Hogwarts. As you can probably imagine, her mother wasn’t especially pleased. Burned right off the tree, legally even. Can’t call herself a Black anymore, though I doubt she’d want to.”

Harry traced his finger down the line, eyes widening when he took in the sight before him. “She’s Narcissa Malfoy’s older sister?”

“Bella’s too,” Sirius said grimly. “Now Narcissa, she took Andromeda leaving terribly. From what I remember, the two of them were always rather close. She took Andromeda following her heart as a betrayal, and it took months before she’d stop crying about it. Bellatrix though, she was always a wild and cruel girl, even in Hogwarts. She was very loud about her intentions to make her ‘blood traitor’ sister pay.”

Harry flinched. “It’s strange hearing you talk about them. I don’t really think about them except that Bellatrix was a death eater and Narcissa is Malfoy’s mother, who’s a right tosser by anyone’s standards.” 

“Well, I grew up with them,” Sirius said staunchly, running his hand over his scalp. “It’s hard not to know your cousins when you’re always tripping over them most of your childhood.”

Harry thought of Dudley and snorted. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” 

They stood there in silence for a few minutes, Harry peering at all the different branches of the tree; delicate ones with only a name or two on them, huge, sturdy branches with names on top of names. Some branches were burned completely off the wall. At one point, he thought he saw the Weasley name, but it was too burnt to tell for sure.

“I have to get back,” Sirius said after a moment. “Just wanted to check in on you. We heard shouting and soon after you were down here alone.”

Harry felt torn between embarrassment from his fit and growing irritation of being left out of all Order matters. “It was nothing really,” He said quickly. “What’s going on?”

Sirius’s lips twitched at that. “You know I can’t tell you, though personally, I believe you should know about it.”

“It is _ my _ life,” Harry muttered, kicking his feet.

“Yes it is,” his godfather said, and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll know eventually, so don’t get too impatient about it. We’ll talk later.”

Harry watched the man leave, his gut clenching painfully. It was difficult knowing even with Sirius on his side, he was unwilling to tell him anything. With a long sigh, Harry left the room a few minutes later, finished with his break. His scar was still prickling, but not enough to distract him. He would rather be upstairs cleaning with friends than hanging around downstairs alone.

“You’re back already?” Ron said when Harry trudged into the room a few minutes later, a towel clutched in his hand.

“Nothing else to do in this house,” Harry said darkly, and his friend snorted in response.

“There is that,” he said, and went back to mopping the floor. Harry peered around the room, finding Hermione across from him, pushing questionable, broken items into a bin. 

“I could use some help,” Ginny called out as he considered his options, looking between the grimy walls and the heaps of odd clocks, lidded mystery boxes, and scattered half-used parchment. “When I open up a cupboard or door, just hit anything that moves.”

“Is _ that _ what you’re doing over there?” Hermione said, her expression rapidly changing to alarm. Then she noticed Harry in the doorway, and it smoothed out. “Oh Harry, you came back.”

“Nothing else to do,” he said in way of an answer. “Sure, I can help with that. Is this a large spiders sort of deal, or doxies?”

Ron shuddered, his grip on his mop rattling. “Rather it be doxies personally.” 

Ginny snorted as she opened another cabinet. “You’d rather have _ doxies_. At least these spiders aren’t poisonous.”

“In a house like this?” Ron said, shaking his head. “Poison would be the least of your worries. You remember that spider that got into our kitchen a few years ago? Giant, ruddy thing.” 

_ “God, _ I remember that,” Ginny said, though she was grinning. “Size of a dinner plate, that one.”

Ron shuddered again, beginning to mop up the sudsy floor. “I’d rather face whatever horrors Hagrid has for us this year than see that bloody thing again.”

Harry barked out a laugh as he picked up a broom and made his way over to where Ginny was standing. “Merlin, I hadn’t thought about that yet. Can’t be any worse than blast-ended skrewts though, right?”

Hermione turned and made a face at him. “I’d nearly succeeded in forgetting about those.” 

Harry, mid-strike with a broom, began laughing again. “Maybe we’ll get lucky this year, and none of the creatures he shows can light things on fire–”

“Oh I bet he’d love that,” Ron said grumbling as he slapped the mop on the floor rather ferociously. “Our first year, hatching a dragon in a wooden hutch. What could go wrong?” 

Loads of things, Harry thought with amusement. He hadn’t thought about the dragon in years. With everything else that had happened to him, a dragon hatching seemed the least of his concern.

“I wonder how Norbert is doing anyways,” Hermione said thoughtfully, hand on her chin. “After Charlie took it neither Hagrid or any of us really talked about it.”

His friend’s jaw dropped. “You remember its name?” Ron complained, as Harry said dryly, “We were a bit preoccupied with Voldemort attacking unicorns in the woods.”

“I can’t believe some of the stuff you three got up to,” Ginny said from next to him. “The only interesting thing that ever happened to me in four years was being possessed by Voldemort, which wasn’t all that great if I had to rate it.”

There was a pause as the three of them went silent. “Ginny…” Ron said slowly after a moment, in a softer voice Harry was used to him using. Ginny just snorted in response, slapping her broom on something skittering across the floor. “I can’t stay afraid of him forever, right? Whatever that diary was, it’s gone now.”

Voldemort wasn’t gone anymore, but Harry didn’t say it out loud. He was beginning to feel far less assured of himself the longer he spent looking through Voldemort’s eyes. It was one thing for him to be some vague memory, a weak, less-than-human horror trapped living as a parasite. It was quite another for him to have a body back, one that stretched the bounds of what could be considered human. 

“Well yes,” Ron said, fumbling with his mop. “I think that’s good Ginny, I’m glad…”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ginny roll her eyes, but her lips curled fondly nonetheless. 

“Right, enough talking,” Hermione said firmly. “We finish this room and we can be free. And I can go read.” That last part was said so quietly, Harry almost missed it, but the room was small and he had to disguise his laughter into a cough moments later. 

They worked a few more hours on the room until the walls were no longer grey with mildew but a nice shade of periwinkle blue. The floors were sparkling clean, the tables clear of trash, and the bedroom looked livable again. Hermione darted off the moment they finished up the stairs, Ginny heading downstairs to find Mrs. Weasley, which left Harry and Ron alone to stare at their hard work. 

“I reckon it looks a great deal nicer than it did,” Ron said.

“I’d sleep in here,” Harry said, though considering his previous bedrooms, that didn’t mean much. Anything was better than a cupboard. He added hastily, “It looks nice.”

“Yeah,” Ron echoed. 

“There's got to be something we can do in this house that’s at least slightly interesting,” Harry said, rubbing at his forehead. “I can’t tell you how much I want to play quidditch. I don’t even need quidditch, just let me on a broom.”

“Sirius said we could try the attic, but when mum caught wind of that she put a stop to it,” Ron groaned. “Less than a week to go, then we’re free from this house.”

“I might not last a week,” Harry said darkly, leaving the room as Ron barked out a laugh.

Next Sunday couldn’t come sooner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always really liked the idea of Dorea Black being James Potter's mother, so thats who she is in this fic, though I know in canon technically Euphemia and Fleamont Potter are his parents. The idea that Sirius ran away to other family was too good to pass up!  
I also wanted to say thank you to everyone who commented or left kudos on my first chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

There was something wrong with the weather that summer. Harry had first noticed it when he was staying with the Dursleys, where he spent hours every day roaming the neighborhood. It had gotten hot, like the weatherman said it would, with weeks of oppressive, dry heat. There were sometimes thunderstorms in the afternoon, and although _ those _ were normal, everything else about them wasn’t.

The temperature would drop; ten, fifteen degrees within minutes. The sky would turn dark and sinister–but it wouldn’t rain. There would be no crack of thunder, no flash of light in the distance, just a hollow, aching silence, like snow falling in the dark. It was as though something was soaking up all the moisture in the clouds before it could drop down on all of them instead. Harry hadn’t realized before the dementor attack that it was caused by something magic, but he should have. 

The trip to the train station in the early morning was made in near silence. He had been split up from his friends, and sent along with Tonks, Mrs. Weasley, and Sirius on foot. Harry kept sneaking glances at Mrs. Weasley, something close to fear curling in his gut. The sky was very dark today; looking much as it had in the minutes before the dementors had come, and she looked awfully afraid. 

“There’s something wrong with those clouds,” Harry muttered after a few minutes of that unbearable quiet. His grip on the locket hidden inside his jacket pocket tightened. 

Sirius made a low whine, and hastened his steps closer to Harry, his dark fur flat in the dull light. 

“It’s the dementors,” Mrs. Weasley said, thin-lipped and her face pale. “It was the same as _ last _time. They’re breeding.”

Harry shuddered and turned his gaze away from the sky. “Dumbledore said Voldemort could control them in the last war.” 

“Yes,” Mrs. Weasley answered tightly, and that was apparently all she would say on the matter. 

“I don’t understand. If Voldemort is trying to stay hidden, then why is he letting them wander free like this? Wouldn’t it make it obvious he’s back?” Harry asked, unable to let it go.

“Fear makes people blind,” Mrs. Weasley said. There was a faint tremble in her voice.

“It’s made for some awfully crummy weather this summer,” Tonks said under her breath. “The Quidditch tournaments this season haven’t been very warm to sit through, I’ll tell you that.”

“I’d do anything to have gone to a Quidditch match this summer,” Harry whispered back, voice thick with jealousy. “Who did you get to see play?”

Tonks flashed him a grin. “Who else but the Holyhe–”

“Quiet,” Mrs. Weasley snapped, and Harry realized her hands were shaking. “We’re surrounded by muggles.”

Tonks bit her lip and looked away. As an older woman with graying, silver hair, it was a rather odd sight. 

“They wouldn’t attack us now though, would they? The dementors.” Harry asked.

“Of course not,” Mrs. Weasley said quickly. “They wouldn’t.”

But it sounded like to Harry as though she was trying very hard to convince herself of that, and unease twisted his features. A moment later, Sirius bumped into his leg, and Harry released his breath.

He understood why they had been split up, why they were going on foot to the station. He supposed the average Death Eater would know nothing of muggle London, making traveling without magic the safest way to get there, but Harry knew that Voldemort had nothing planned for him that day anyway. He was busy with someone else, another lowly ministry official. He had been taking a lot of those lately, and Harry knew he wanted information of some sort. Whatever he wanted to know, none of them had it so far, something which enraged Voldemort greatly.

It was a mercy when they died quickly. 

It took them over twenty minutes to reach King’s Cross, and it was with great relief when they passed through the barrier of Nine and Ten and met the familiar sight of the Hogwarts Express, gleaming a bright, shiny red. Though Harry knew Voldemort or his followers could just as easily board the train, it felt like safe harbor. 

The rest of them were already there when they arrived, milling about the platform. Then there were rushed goodbyes, parting hugs, and the last thing Harry saw before the train rushed out of the station was a big, black dog, standing in the parting crowd. 

“Right, Ron and I are off to the prefect's carriage,” Hermione said swiftly, once the station had disappeared out of sight. “Not sure when we’ll be back but I doubt it will be the whole trip there.”

“Er, yeah. What she said,” Ron said, looking between Harry and Hermione with an awkward undercurrent to his voice. He must have realized it would be the first train ride there in which they weren’t together. 

A few people passed by them; when they caught sight of Harry, their expressions shuttered off and they hurried away. His stomach clenched painfully. When their letters had arrived the day before, so had prefect badges, something he had forgotten about completely up until that moment, when Ron’s face had lit up in bewildered delight. Harry had been jealous for a split second before reality set in. They couldn’t have a delusional liar wandering about Hogwarts wearing one, now could they?

“Come on, Harry. Let’s go find a carriage,” Ginny said, tugging on his arm as she glared toward the students who had just passed them. “Look, just ignore them, yeah?”

Harry dropped his gaze and turned his attention back to her. “Yeah, alright.” He would have to get used to the glares and the whispers; there would only be more of them once he was at Hogwarts.

They spent a few minutes opening and closing carriage doors until Ginny found the one she was apparently looking for. Upon opening the last one, her face lit up in delight, and she pulled him into the carriage a moment later. 

“Luna!” She said sunnily, and dropped into the seat next to a girl reading an upside-down magazine. She was pale and blond, and something about her made Harry feel vaguely uncomfortable. She looked up from her magazine, her eyes widening an imperceptible amount. 

“Harry Potter,” she said as Harry took a seat across from her, shooting a glance over at Ginny. She grinned back.

“Hello,” Harry said after a moment. “Luna, right?”

“Yes,” she said dreamily, before turning her pale eyes back to Ginny, making Harry nearly sigh with relief. “How was your summer? We didn't get to see each other at all.”

Ginny sprawled over the seat, stretching her arms into the air. “Was alright. Mostly boring. Yours?”

“It was wonderful,” she said, in that lulling voice of hers. “Daddy and I–”

The carriage door slid open, revealing a familiar face. Neville had one hand clamped on his trunk, the other clutching his toad, and his shoulder holding open the door. The carriage grew silent as Neville went pale at the sight of Luna.

“Er–everywhere else is full,’ he said, still staring at her. Harry knew the feeling; between the wand sticking out behind her ear, her necklace of butterbeer corks, or the upside-down magazine, he wasn’t surprised about Neville’s reluctance.

“Hey, Neville,” Harry said and patted the seat next to him. The boy nearly swelled with relief, and with his luggage stored in the racks above their head a minute later, he sat down. 

“Have a good summer?” Harry said after a moment, echoing Luna’s words from only a few minutes before.

“It was okay,” Neville said, “Yours?”

“Was okay,” Harry said.

There was a pause again, as Harry realized he never spoke with him unless Hermione or Ron were with him. 

“Who are you?” Luna asked suddenly, looking over the top of her magazine. Her abruptness had Neville blinking rapidly, staring down at his toad who was attempting to struggle from his grasp. “Neville, Neville Longbottom.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Luna said slowly. “I’m Luna Lovegood.”

“Yes I know,” he replied, before turning pink. 

Harry realized with mounting horror that it was going to be a very long train ride if this was how they were going to speak to one another. They sat in complete silence for several minutes, until Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

“So,” Harry said. “Anything interesting happen over the break?”

Neville perked up, before shoving his free hand into his bag, digging around until he pulled out one of the ugliest plants Harry ever had the displeasure of looking at. It had all the characteristics of a cactus, except covered in pulsating, grey boils. He struggled to keep himself from flinching away. 

“Wow,” Harry managed, “That’s–that's really interesting looking.”

Ginny covered her mouth with a hand, her shoulders shaking. His eyes narrowed at her and a grin peeked out beneath her fingers. 

“It’s a Mimbulus Mimbletonia,” Neville said, his chest puffing out. “Great Uncle Algie got it for me–super rare, you know?” He didn’t seem to notice the ill cast to Harry’s face. 

“Er, very cool,” Harry breathed out, eyes still stuck on the hideous thing. It looked as though it were breathing, which didn’t seem like it boded well for the rest of the inhabitants of the carriage. “So, what makes it so interesting?” 

“Let me show you,” Neville said with a wide smile, and promptly stuck Trevor in Harry’s lap. He scrambled to get a grip on the toad before it could make a run for it, and by the time his attention switched back to Neville, the other boy had the plant up near his face, a quill in the other hand. “I just need to–”

There was a loud pop, almost like the sound of apparition. None of them had any time to prepare for it; one moment Neville had the quill held up to the plant, and the next the entire carriage was covered in dark green slime. Harry sat frozen in shock as Luna started giggling hysterically across from him.

“Neville,” Harry said, deadly quiet as he lifted a hand to wipe his glasses.

The carriage door slid open. 

Harry closed his eyes, knowing unless it was Malfoy it literally couldn’t get any worse. 

“Um, is that you, Harry?” 

He recognized the voice instantly, and corrected his last thought; it could get worse. He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. Cho Chang stood in the entrance, looking as though she wished she hadn’t opened it in the first place. 

“Hello, Cho,” Harry said slowly, painfully. “It’s good to see you again.”

There was a pause. Harry wished desperately that he could be anywhere but there, covered in slime.

“You too,” the girl said quickly. “Er–I just wanted to say hello. See you around.” The compartment door slammed shut. 

Ginny burst into laughter. “Merlin’s beard that was painful,” she said, pointing her wand towards the center of the carriage and said in between bouts of giggles, “_ Scourgify_.” Immediately, the dark green liquid disappeared, leaving them squeaky clean. 

“I had no idea it would do that,” Neville said gasping. Then after a moment, he muttered, “Fascinating,” and pulled out a notebook to jot that down. 

Harry continued to hold the toad, not sure what else to do. He felt absolutely mortified, made worse by how flustered he used to be around her. Though the terrible, awkward crush he’d had on her last year died miserably sometime after the Yule Ball, all the conversations they had before ended with Harry red-faced and all but fleeing the scene. Then there was the matter of Cedric, which was perhaps why she had tried finding him on the train. She probably wanted to know what really happened to him...He closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to think about Cedric any longer. Harry could still remember his face after death with horrific clarity, even after all this time. Though the nightmares in which the boy starred in were fading, sometimes he still woke with his name strangled on his lips. 

“If Ron and Hermione are the prefects for Griffindor, I wonder who the rest are going to be,” Ginny said, after she had stopped laughing. 

“Of course it’s going to be Malfoy,” Harry said bitterly as he handed the toad back to Neville, who finally had his hands free. Ginny groaned, leaning back into her seat, Neville quickly following suit. The only one who didn’t react was Luna, who was too wrapped up in her magazine to follow the conversation. It reminded him a bit of Hermione, and he felt a hint of fondness grow for the strange girl.

“I hate to say it,” Ginny said, “But you’re probably right.”

“You will be,” Neville said morosely. “It’s all politics in that house and no one else fits the bill. Nott ceded to Malfoy years ago, and Zabini just doesn’t care.”

A twinge of surprise lit up Harry’s features. “Didn’t know you knew the inner workings of Slytherin, Neville.”

“I don’t,” he said hastily, ears turning pink. “It’s just obvious, isn’t it?”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, “Er–not really? I guess I don’t pay much attention to Slytherins other than Malfoy, and that’s only because he doesn’t leave _ me _ alone.”

Ginny looked as though she’d swallowed a frog. “Malfoy doesn’t leave _ anyone _ alone. We’re not even in the same year, but if Malfoy sees me in the hall most of the time ‘blood traitor’ slips out.”

“They’re all bigots,” Neville said, shaking his head. “Even Gran can’t stand him, Mr. Malfoy, I mean. It’s usually better to be neutral towards most families but apparently she can’t bring herself to act cordially towards him.”

Harry stifled a laugh at the idea of Neville’s grandmother in her giant, stuffed vulture hat, speaking to Malfoy who looked as though he’d bitten into a lemon.

“Didn’t know you were into politics,” Ginny said as she leaned forward, curiosity shining in her eyes. Neville looked slightly taken back.

“Well, I have to be, at least a little. One day I’ll have to take her seat on the Wizengamot, and I don’t want to be completely useless.” Harry stared blankly toward him, and Neville returned the expression. 

“You have seats too,” Neville said slowly. “Did you not know about that?”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t know anything about wizarding politics, nor do I have a whole lot of interest in them. I’m sure I’ll be forced into it when I hit seventeen if there’s anything important.”

“Er–alright,” Neville said, looking even more muddled than before. He opened his mouth as though to speak again, but before he got a chance to say anything, Ron and Hermione burst through the door, both wearing absolutely ghastly expressions. Ron looked as though he were out to murder when he sunk into the seat next to Harry, hands clenched tightly into fists. 

Hermione sat down stiffly next to Ginny, without a word of greeting.

“Guess who’s a prefect?” Ron said with a snarl in his voice.

“Malfoy.” The rest of the compartment said with lifeless voices.

His fist hit the seat, head falling against the headboard. “Arrogant little prick.”

“Guess who the other prefect is?” Hermione said, her words icy cold.

Harry looked through his memories, picking out the worst, most ill-tempered fifth-year girl in Slytherin. “Pansy Parkinson?”

“Who else,” Hermione muttered, looking ready to explode. “I don’t understand how the two worst bullies in our year somehow get rewarded for it. I’m talking to Professor McGonagall when we arrive. It’s utter hogwash that they get the power to hand out detentions.”

“They’ll give punishments for just breathing,” Ron groaned. “Merlin, Malfoy’s gonna be bloody awful this year.” 

“We just have to be fair,” Hermione muttered under her breath. “Can’t stoop to their level, no doing anything illegal–”

Harry coughed, purposely looking away as Hermione’s eyes shot up toward at him. Her face turned a little red.

“You know,” She started curtly, “We don’t need to get up to mischief every year. We could be like normal students. Not get into any trouble.”

Ron barked out an incredulous laugh. “With those two prats swaggering around the corridors? I don’t think so.”

Harry disagreed but kept his mouth shut. He felt like most of the trouble they had gotten up to over the years hadn’t even been their fault, but Voldemort’s or one of his supporters. He didn’t usually go looking for trouble, or at least Harry didn’t think he did.

“We can at least try to not give them any ammunition,” Hermione was saying, but Harry tuned her out, leaning his head against the window. Thoughts of Voldemort brought his good mood to a bitter halt, and he suddenly wasn’t much in the mood for speaking. 

For a while, the compartment was filled with quiet conversation as Harry fell in and out of light sleep, not daring to allow himself to fall further. He couldn’t get caught in Voldemort’s mind, not now, not when other people were around. His reactions to being trapped were something he couldn’t bear to have his friends see; clothes slick from sweat, his body twitching and thrashing about, or the worst of all; when hisses flowed from his lips like poison. Though he never allowed himself to go any further, Harry could tell Voldemort was awake. He was always awake, every moment night or day. Sometimes Harry wondered what might happen if Voldemort slept for once; would he fall into Harry’s mind as he did his, to steal his thoughts, his emotions, his eyes…

The cabin door slid open. This time, Harry knew without looking who their intruder was.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is. Weasel, Loony, Longbottom–”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Harry heard Ron say, and reluctantly opened his eyes.

In the reflection of the window, Harry could see that behind Malfoy was his usual pair of goons. Both of them had vaguely menacing expressions frozen on their faces, as though they didn’t know how to look any way else. Malfoy seemed to have grown a few inches over the summer, the lines of his face growing more pointy, making that self-satisfied smirk on his face all the more infuriating.

The boy opened his mouth to speak again, grinning ear to ear. “Of course, I can’t forget the mud–”

“Get _ out_,” Harry snarled, rising to his feet. “Get the _ fuck out_.” 

Malfoy wobbled in the doorway, clearing not expecting that much of a response, the grin slipping from his lips. 

“Harry,” Ron said uneasily, also getting to his feet. “Let’s not do anything you’ll regret.”

“That’s right,” Malfoy said, regaining some of his confidence. “They said you were loony, but I hadn’t realized how close they’d hit it on the mark.” 

Blood roared distantly in Harry’s ears as his limbs began to shake with rage. “Yes, it’s all very funny now isn’t it. Tell me, Malfoy, does your father ever come home trembling in pain? It’s from the cruciatus curse, you know. Poor daddy hadn’t realized how mad _ he _ is now, now did he?”

This time, there was a flicker of unease that spread across Malfoy’s features, just for a moment. Then he spat at them wordlessly, slamming the door shut and leaving an uncomfortable silence behind him within the compartment.

“Merlin, Harry,” Ron said after a moment, his eyes wide. “I haven’t seen you explode like that since earlier in the summer.”

Harry shook his head violently and dropped back down into his seat. “I’m sorry,” Harry said, his voice stilted “I just–the way he was swaggering about. Do you know how many people Voldemort’s killed already this summer? His father is no doubt helping, and here _he _ is, wandering about the hallways with that obnoxious smirk. They haven’t won, not _ yet_.” 

His friends’ features were strained when he looked up, as though they didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t understand,” Neville said, looking around. “What do you mean by that? By how many You-Know-Who has killed?” 

Harry turned his gaze to the dark window, filled with regret. “Nevermind, I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

“No!” Neville said loudly, and Harry’s head snapped back to the boy. “No,” Neville said firmly. “You can’t just–say that and then not explain it.” 

“No one believes me anyway, haven’t you seen the papers?” Harry said mockingly, and the other boy’s face turned red.

“Harry!” Hermione snapped, the book in her lap slamming shut. “Enough.”

Harry turned his gaze toward her, his lips curling, but then a voice spoke. “I believe you.”

It was spoken softly, but when Harry met Neville’s eyes, there was something startlingly strong in them. Harry rubbed his forehead, remorse tightening his features.

“I’m sorry, Neville, I shouldn’t have said that,” Harry said. “I just don’t want to talk about it right now, alright?” 

“Okay,” Neville said, but there was a tightness in his jaw that made it clear he hadn’t quite forgiven him. Harry sighed, letting his head fall against the soft padding of the seat. 

“It must be tiring getting angry like that,” Luna said matter of fact from across from him. “Daddy always says that there's a time and place for anger, but if it isn’t the right time, we must find it within ourselves to let it go.” 

Next to him, Harry heard Ron let out a soft groan. 

“I think that would be rather impossible for Harry here,” Ginny said, cracking a grin. “You should have heard him at the beginning of the summer. The shouting was spectacular.”

This time, it was Harry’s turn to flush bright red. “I really am sorry about that,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Being stuck at the Dursleys for a month had made me really frustrated.” 

“My Great uncle Algie explodes dinnerware when he’s angry about something,” Neville said, “Seems to work well enough for him. Sometimes he goes for hours–the crashing noises are unbelievable.”

“That seems more Harry’s style,” Ron said with a good-natured grin. “If only we could use our wands over the summer. We had plenty of things he could have blown up.”

Neville turned his attention to the red-haired boy. “You renovating the burrow?”

“Er–” Ron turned wide eyes toward Hermione in a plea for help as he remembered the headquarters were a secret. “Something like that.”

Hermione sighed, putting her book down for the second time. “I still can’t believe Malfoy was going to call me that, out in the open. I’m his fellow prefect, for Merlin’s sake.”

“They’re getting cocky,” Ginny said as she peered over Luna’s shoulder at her magazine. “No mystery why.”

“They’re only going to get worse, I reckon,” Ron groaned. “If Malfoy’s this confident already with only his two, useless goons. They travel in packs, you know.”

Harry snorted from beside him. “We all ‘travel in packs’, Ron.”

Hermione’s expression twisted, and her fingers tapped nervously on the cover of her book. “You don’t think they’ll really hurt anyone, do you?”

“Not while Professor Dumbledore is at Hogwarts,” Luna said distractedly, her voice a high lit. “But I suspect as the war starts up again, the line between what they are too scared of using will eventually be broken. Dumbledore has enemies everywhere now.” 

Harry turned a surprised eye toward the girl. “You believe me?”

At this, she briefly met his gaze, her eyes hidden behind those ridiculous glasses. “Of course I do. Isn’t it obvious he’s back?” 

“Er–” Harry froze, not knowing how to reply. If it was obvious, why did so many people think him a liar?” 

“It’s because they’re afraid,” Luna continued, matter of fact. “If you’re wondering why I believe you and so many don’t. People hide from what they fear, even if it’s the truth.” 

“And you don’t? Hide I mean,” Harry asked, curious despite himself. 

“Mm–” Luna tilted her head. “Everyone hides from some truth, and I am no exception.”

Ginny suddenly released a small, strained laugh, and the strange atmosphere among them faded. “Merlin’s beard, we’re nearly to Hogwarts. Let's lighten up a little.”

Ron patted his stomach. “Speaking of lightening up, I’m starved. Do you think they’ll be serving lamb chops tonight? Haven’t had those in weeks.” 

“When have they _ not _ the first night back,” Hermione muttered as she reopened her book.

Ron looked vaguely offended. “It’s happened before, third year. Nothing but meat pies, I swear.” 

“You remember that?” Neville said, looking amazed, and Ron puffed up.

“I always remember our first Hogwarts suppers,” Ron said. “There’s not a bigger feast except for Christmas, though that’s a good one too.”

“Of _ course _ you do,” Ginny said, shaking her head. 

As Ron’s head snapped toward his sister, Harry leaned his own against the window, eyes following the trees as they bent against the wind.

It got steadily darker as the hours passed, and the rest of the train ride went without any more unwanted interruptions. When it came time to change into their robes, Harry took the chance to slip the locket up and over his head, leaving it nestled under layers of stiff clothing. It laid against his bare skin, soothing the last of Voldemort’s thoughts away. His ratty t-shirts he wore during the summer were too thin to hide it, but his robes hid all traces of the locket. 

The last hour of the ride cast the outside of the train into complete darkness, and thick rainfall made any chance of seeing Hogwarts from afar impossible. When the train finally came to a stop, and the horn sounded, Hermione rose to her feet.

“We’ll see you later,” she said and jabbed Ron in the chest. 

“Yes, right. See you guys later,” he mumbled, following her reluctantly out of the carriage.

“I don’t envy them,” Ginny said, her lips twitching after they had left. “Herding first years? No thanks.”

Harry laughed as the sound of thundering footsteps started up from outside their compartment. “I think I have to agree with you on that. Might as well wait until they’ve all gotten off.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Neville said, and his eyes gleamed as he stared out of the window and up the well-beaten path the carriages took. 

They waited comfortably inside their warm carriage until the sound of students rushing to get off the train faded into the occasional pitter-pat of footsteps. 

“Time to go, I’d say,” Ginny said with a wide yawn, and rose to her feet. She pulled down her trunk from above her head, and did the same for Luna. Ginny left a moment later, Luna following doggedly after her. 

The two boys looked at one other before Harry shrugged, and they stood up to get their things.

Once off the train, Harry looked around for Hagrid, but the man was nowhere in sight. He’d been late getting off the train, however, and with the first years long gone, it didn’t surprise him, though he did feel a bit disappointed. Harry was a few feet from an empty stagecoach when a low trill had him tilting his head down in surprise. Hedwig was awake. 

“Well, I suppose I could let you out now,” Harry said, and put his trunks down to open the wire door on her cage. She took off with a hoot, her bright feathers disappearing into the black sky. 

Turning back to the carriage, he took in the smooth, dark ribs of the thestrals pulling it this year, and got in without a word. At the end of first year, Harry had spotted them for the first time as they rode the carriages back down to the train to take them home. They had terrified him at first, but now their slow, methodical movements when hitched in for the carriages seemed to calm him. 

He kept the door open, leaning his head out to search for the rest of their group as Neville got into the other side. 

“You see any of them yet?” Neville asked, clutching his toad nervously. Up a ways, Harry watched as a group of fifth-year Slytherins pushed a younger year out of a carriage. It didn’t seem like receiving a prefect badge had taught Malfoy anything.

“No, not yet,” Harry said, still watching the horrendous display, and noticed Neville was doing the same thing.

“Merlin, he really is horrible, isn’t he?” Neville said quietly, but it wasn’t really a question. Harry’s grip on the carriage grew tighter. For a moment, he thought about going over there, but what he’d do once there, he didn’t know. It wasn’t as though the younger Slytherin would even appreciate ‘Mad Potter’ helping him. Though it weighed against his conscience, Harry stood there and did nothing. 

After a few minutes had passed, Harry caught sight of Hermione, and halfheartedly waved at her. As she strode toward him, dragging her heavy trunk behind her, Ron popped out of the crowd with Ginny and Luna following after him.

“Everyone got their things?” Hermione asked when they had all gotten into the carriage, gaze moving between them as though it were an inspection. Harry smothered a laugh.

“Seems so,” Ginny replied, tucking her things under her seat. Moments later, their carriage began to move up the pathway toward the castle. 

“Did any of you see Hagrid?” Harry asked as their carriage bumped along the uneven path. “We left the train a bit late so I might have missed him, but I thought I’d ask.”

Ron looked unexpectedly grim. “Hagrid wasn’t there at all–Professor Grubbly-Plank was back and brought all the first years to the boats.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, nearly jumping from his seat. “But he never misses the first night back.”

“Well he did tonight,” Ron said with a groan. “He must be sick or something.”

“Then why would they have Grubby-Plank come back? They could have gotten one of the other professors to do it,” Hermione said, her brows quirked. It was obviously an argument they had before. 

“Do you think he won’t be teaching then?” Harry said, leaning toward her. “I mean, he can’t miss classes, right?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice heavy with fatigue. He suddenly remembered she’d been outside helping to escort the first years for a good twenty minutes in the rain, and his mouth shut with an inaudible pop.

Once further up the path and with Hogwarts looming above them, Harry’s eyes bore into the darkness, searching for Hagrid’s cabin. His lights weren’t on as far as he could tell, and his gut clenched. Hagrid had been there ever since his very first year at Hogwarts; having the man be gone filled him with an uneasy sense of wrongness. 

Inside the castle was warm and bright in a way the dark and dreary night was not. Now that they were out of the rain, and into the light, the odd, sometimes hostile looks Harry was getting were much more obvious.

“Well, I can tell who reads the paper,” Harry said in a low murmur, and Hermione scoffed. 

“That rubbish–” 

“That rubbish you buy also?” Ron interrupted her with a wry voice, but his eyes grew tense. 

Hermione didn’t say another word, only crossing her arms. Once they reached the great hall, Luna left for Ravenclaw with a wave and a spring in her step while the rest of them went to their own table. Ginny disappeared into a group of fourth years, and Harry sat down with a sigh as a large section of the table near him went silent. One of them went as far as to scoot further down the bench, flinching under Hermione’s glare.

“Oh, leave it be,” Harry muttered, and moved his attention up to the staff table, where Hagrid was missing from. Between the rest of the clues, he had to accept it. Hagrid was gone. 

His eyes moved down the rest of the table; Dumbledore was dressed in his usual eccentric fashion, Professor Sprout was looking over her own house’s table with a comforting smile, Professor Trelawney’s expression was hidden behind her gigantic, thick-rimmed glasses–a woman dressed from head to toe in pink, with brown hair and a glittering, false curl of her mouth.

It was the witch from his trial who had made every effort to get him expelled. She loathed him, Harry thought grimly. If one of the options had been Harry’s soul being fed to the dementors, she would have voted for it with that sugary sweet smile still pasted on her lips.

“The evening just got a lot worse,” Harry said in a quiet voice, and bumped the two in the shoulder. Ron and Hermione followed his gaze to where he was staring at, and shuddered.

“I’m assuming that’s who you mean? Who is she?” Hermione asked, fingers tapping over the table. 

“She works for Fudge, hates my guts,” Harry said, scowling. “And when I say work, I mean she whispers in his ear and he listens. She’s a goddamn snake, if you ask me.” 

Her fingers froze midair. “Her being here cannot be good,” she said, narrowing her eyes towards the woman.

“Well, there’s only one reason for her to be here,” Ron said with a scoff. “It will fit the pattern quite nicely too. Murder, fraud, attempted murder, murderer…”

Hermione swung around, her jaw clenching. “Remus was a fantastic professor!”

Ron snorted, “Not when he was trying to kill us, he wasn’t,” he muttered, so quietly only Harry could hear him. 

Despite himself, Harry let out a short bark of laughter. “By that way of thinking, so was good old Barty, you know, the death eater?”

Hermione sniffed, and set her attention back to the staff table. “Still,” she said after a moment, nibbling on her lip. “Having a ministry official here to teach at a time when the headmaster is seen as an enemy? That doesn’t bode well for any of us, especially you, Harry.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Harry retorted, though there was no heat in it. 

“She could do a lot of damage here, if she’s that important,” Hermione continued. “If the ministry is trying to interfere in Hogwarts, that’s huge. The two have been separate for years for a reason. I wonder...”

“What?” Harry said, and there was a buzzing in his ears.

“Well I mean,” Hermione started, her tapping on the table drawing to a halt. “This is Dumbledore’s last seat of power, right? He’s been removed as Chief Warlock, had a smear campaign running against him all summer–if he was removed from Hogwarts–”

Ron exploded into laughter. “But that’s impossible, isn’t it? Remove _ Dumbledore _ from Hogwarts?”

Hermione bit her lip. “But it _ is _ possible, don’t you see? Isn’t that incredibly convenient, for the one man You-Know-Who fears to be banished from the place he covets above all else?” 

Hermione’s words made a startlingly large amount of sense, and Harry felt his grip on the table tighten. Was this why Voldemort was in hiding? Was this all just some trick to dispose of Dumbledore? He glanced at the woman one last time before looking away, blood pounding in his ears.

Hermione was right; something terrible had come to Hogwarts.


	4. Chapter 4

It was during his childhood that Harry learned how it felt to be scorned, distrusted and ignored. The occupants of Privet Drive took one look at his ratty too-large clothes, the smudges of dirt he gained through gardening, and disliked him on the spot. Matched with the rumors Petunia liked to pass along, not a single person on that street felt even a smidgen of pity for him. But it was supposed to be different at Hogwarts. Hogwarts was his escape from that; where the opinions of Mr. and Mrs. Dursley didn’t matter, but not anymore. 

He wasn’t just disliked, he was _ feared_. Younger years clamored out of his way in the halls, faces turning white. Those in his own year went silent the moment they saw him, lips snapping shut. The worst was the way they looked at him, stony stares or outright glares in judgment for his false crimes. It wasn’t just from the other houses, much of Gryffindor seemed to believe the papers as well. He had believed, quite foolishly, that they at the very least would believe him, but the only kindness they gave him was not speaking to him at all. It was worse when they opened their mouths, his imaginary crimes bursting from their lips. 

Seamus had made his thoughts on Harry particularly clear that night, and Harry ended up tucking into bed early, the small speck of joy he felt at arriving at Hogwarts gone completely. 

Nothing had improved by the following morning, and the three of them sat alone at breakfast, outcasted for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it felt like the worst. 

Angelina came to find him halfway through breakfast to give him the news of her making captain, and Harry was pleased to find at the very least, she didn’t seem to believe the papers. After giving him the date of their next tryouts, she disappeared back down the table, leaving the three of them alone again.

“Oh cheer up,” Ron said after they had received their schedules from Professor McGonagall. “At least we have History of Magic first period.”

“What’s good about that?” Harry groused, moving his porridge around with his spoon.

“It’s an extra hour of sleep,” Ron said humorously, patting him on the back. From next to him, Hermione sighed loudly. 

“I don’t understand why Binns is still teaching, but he needs to go,” Hermione said firmly, as she took a large bite of toast. “I hate to say it, but there’s no interest in history in this school at all, and it’s entirely his fault.”

“Can you even fire a ghost?” Ron asked, sounding almost genuinely curious. “I mean, he’s stuck here, isn’t he?”

“What, so he’s still teaching because Dumbledore pities him?” Harry said, his lips twitching. “That figures considering Snape–”

“Considering _ what_, Mr. Potter?” 

Harry froze as Ron’s laughter abruptly cut off. He turned around, cursing silently. Snape’s expression seemed caught between incensed and sleek satisfaction. 

“Nothing, Professor,” Harry said, scratching at his neck, where the chain of the locket met skin. “I meant nothing by it, honest.”

“_Detention_. Five o’clock tonight. My office,” Snape said, sneering. He took a few steps away from their table before abruptly turning back, the smile on his face nothing less than a gloat. “Oh, and I almost forgot–thirty points from Gryffindor, for disrespecting your betters.”

The three of them watched him move away in complete silence, Harry in stupefied disbelief. A few seconds later, he could do nothing but slump into his seat, groaning. 

“Nice one, Harry,” Ron muttered under his breath, “That must be a record for how quickly you’ve gotten detention.”

“Not if you count second year with the flying car,” Hermione mumbled next to them. “Not even to the feast and the two of you had detention for weeks.” 

“That was probably not my best moment,” Harry said glumly and stared blankly at his breakfast, his appetite having disappeared entirely. 

“You shouldn’t be talking like that about our professors at all, especially in here,” Hermione said. “Honestly, what were you thinking?”

“I _ wasn’t _ thinking.”

“Hey, what happened to our points? Classes haven’t even started yet!” Harry heard a voice call from down the table and he slumped further in his seat. 

“They’re going to be real pissed when they find out who it was,” Ron said, jerking a finger in their direction. 

“I _ know _ that, Ron.” 

* * *

As he expected, the dirty looks from the rest of Gryffindor worsened after that, and it was nearly a relief when they made it out of History of Magic, where Binns hadn’t noticed the tense atmosphere. Harry’s opinion changed quickly, however, once he remembered Potions was next, and his relief turned to dread as they made their way inside the classroom and found Snape waiting for them, eyes glittering with malice. Harry had found over the course of the past four years that Snape enjoyed giving near-impossible assignments the first day of classes, and today was no exception. 

“Harry!” Ron hissed over his cauldron, which had begun hissing flame. “What do I do?”

“How would I know?” Harry growled back, his own potion a muddy gray. Compared to Hermione’s shining, silver-colored potion, both of theirs were complete failures, something which Snape remarked upon with great pleasure a few minutes later. 

“What have you done now, Potter?” The man said coldly.

Harry took a deep breath and looked up. His professor had a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, as though watching Harry fail made him feel a rare sliver of happiness.

“I don’t know, sir,” Harry replied curtly, trying to stay calm. He already had one detention already and he didn’t need another.

His professor’s lip curled, and he spoke with a jeer. “One would have to be blind not to see_ that_. Don’t try to fix it, it’s beyond help.” Snape turned his attention to the rest of the class, his voice growing louder. “As for the rest of you, bottle up a flagon for me to grade. Your homework is to be turned in on Thursday. Twelve inches of parchment on the properties and uses of moonstone. Now, get out of my sight.”

The classroom burst into life with activity; nearly all of Gryffindor desperate to escape as soon as possible. Harry filled a flagon gloomily and handed it over without a word with Ron and Hermione. 

Their lunch was a quiet affair with most of their house ignoring them. He already felt exhausted and Harry had only been to two classes. His monotonous days of cleaning Grimmauld were over, but there were moments when he wished he hadn’t left. At least at Grimmauld, no one seemed to hate him over lies. 

As they walked into the D.A.D.A classroom later that afternoon, Harry noticed the silence immediately. The room was dead quiet, with not a peep of noise. Umbridge stood at the front, dressed again in pink and wearing a simpering, false smile that grew strained at the sight of him. Harry looked away, finding a seat next to Hermione. 

“Good afternoon, class,” Umbridge said sweetly after everyone had found their seats, her arms clasped together. There was silence other than a few, half-hearted murmurs. 

The smile slipped from her face for a split second before it returned, too wide to be convincing. 

“Good afternoon, _ class_,” she repeated, and there was something about her expression that made Harry feel uneasy. 

Most of the class must have felt the same way; the resounding ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge’ was far louder this time. Umbridge beamed at them before beginning to speak. Within minutes, Harry realized that whatever was going to be taught that year, none of it was going to be useful. The longer Umbridge spoke, the more people fidgeted in their seats, pinched, unhappy expressions appearing on their faces. She ended the long speech by assigning chapter one for them to read in-class, and that was when Hermione raised her hand in the air. 

For minutes Umbridge ignored her, deliberately not looking in her direction. It was only when most of the class had abandoned their reading in favor of watching them, that she finally spoke again. 

“Yes, what is it, child?” Umbridge said. 

“Professor,” Hermione began steadily, “I was wondering about when we might practice the spells we are learning. You see, I read ahead in the book over the past few days, and found often times nothing is in there to explain _ how _ to cast them.”

Childish, ringing laughter burst from Umbridge’s lips. “Isn’t it obvious? There’s no reason for any of you to learn how to cast these spells. You can’t really think any sort of situation that would require such spells would occur in Hogwarts, now would you?” 

For a moment, a bewildered silence permeated the classroom. Then several hands shot straight up in the air. 

“Yes, miss–? How silly of me, forgetting to ask your name before,” Umbridge said, her voice still coquettishly sweet.

“It’s Hermione, Hermione Granger,” Hermione replied quickly. “But we can’t possibly pass our OWLs without at least practicing some of these spells.”

“That would hardly be necessary,” Umbridge said, her smile turning strained. “What I will be teaching you in this class will undoubtedly be enough to pass your ministry approved OWL testing. You have nothing to worry about.”

Harry, despite his better judgment, raised his hand in the air. Umbridge stared at him coldly. When she spoke, her voice was near unrecognizable. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“I just wanted to ask, it’s all very well and good if we can pass our OWLs this year, but what about if we get attacked or something? Knowing these spells could be the difference between life or death.”

She laughed again, though there was nothing particularly humorous about it. “Life or death? Why would you children ever be involved in something like that, especially at Hogwarts?”

Before Harry could get another word in, Lavender Brown piped up. 

“But Professor,” she said, “Bad things _ have _happened in Hogwarts. I mean, regardless of what you believe, two students were kidnapped under the instructions of an escaped criminal last year. A few years ago there was something going around petrifying students–a basilisk. We need to learn how to defend ourselves.” 

There was something about the way Umbridge’s gaze sharpened, like a cat watching a wounded bird, that made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand straight. 

“Is that so?” she said very slowly, tilting her head. “Could you repeat that, please? What about a basilisk?”

“Um–” Lavender said, looking less certain now. “I mean, that’s what I heard at least.”

“A basilisk,” Umbridge said sweetly, “Is classified as an XXXXX creature by the ministry. Pray tell, how could such a beast have gotten into Hogwarts?” 

“It wasn’t one of the students if that’s what you’re asking,” Harry said loudly, and her gaze snapped toward him.

“Hand, Mr. Potter,” she said coldly, and turned her head away from him as his hand shot up. Umbridge cleared her throat. “Now, if what your saying is true, if there really was a basilisk–why wasn’t the ministry informed properly? The way this school is run, it really needs a serious refresh of regulations.” 

Suddenly, Hermione’s words from last night floated through his mind, and his dread built like a pit in his stomach. The Ministry really was trying to interfere with Hogwarts. 

“It is unfortunate, the way you have been taught in the past,” Umbridge was saying, “By _ undesirables _–”

“Undesirables?” Harry repeated, despite himself. “You mean the death eater we had last year?”

“Was your hand up, Mr. Potter?” she said shrilly, rounding on him with bulging, widened eyes.

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice stilted. “Though you seemed to not have seen _ it_.”

“Enough!” Umbridge snapped. Her eyes narrowed at him in open hatred. “You will stop interrupting this class, or I will take points.”

His hands clenched into fists, and he only barely managed to keep his mouth shut. Seemingly satisfied, Umbridge turned back to the rest of the class and found several hands still raised in the air. Her mouth turned downward for a moment, before it righted itself back into that curl of a smile.

“Your name?” Umbridge said sweetly, to which Dean replied tightly, “Dean Thomas.”

“Well,” Umbridge said, clasping her hands firmly together. “What do you have to say that’s so important?”

“Harry’s right. What happens if we’re attacked? We won’t always be at Hogwarts, and there are dangers out there. We need to know how to defend ourselves,” Dean said. 

“Mr. Thomas,” Umbridge said slowly, as though talking to a child. “As I said before, there’s nothing to fear, in or outside this school. Nothing is going to harm you.”

Harry burst into laughter, causing most of the room to turn to stare at him in alarm. “That’s funny,” Harry said, “Just a few months ago I had dementors come after me. It was proven to be true in full court, which you would know since you were there.”

“Enough. Five points from Gryffindor,” Umbridge snapped. “Now if there isn’t anything–”

“Cedric didn’t die for you to pretend nothing happened,” Harry said, his voice rising as he lost his patience. “He didn’t just fall over dead, he was murdered!”

“Be quiet, Mr. Potter!” she yelled, her features twisting in anger. “There is nothing to fear, though there are some who would tell you You-Know-Who has returned, it simply isn’t true. The words of a liar and a madman are hardly words to believe in.”

The rest of the class had abandoned their textbooks entirely in favor of watching the two of them. Though some still looked thoroughly entertained, many of them were beginning to appear worried. Harry was nearly trembling with rage, and under his robes, the locket began to burn. A buzzing noise like a fly echoed through his ears. 

“You’re so sure, aren’t you, of what happened that night,” Harry said coldly. “The press had so many _ theories _ of what happened after I appeared outside of the maze with Cedric’s body. But you weren’t there, when Voldemort rose out of the cauldron. You weren’t there when he pressed his wand to the dark mark of one of his servants and _ called _them all to him–” There was a collective of gasps, soft shrieks of horror. 

“Another five points from Gryffindor,” Umbridge warned him, her voice ringing shrilly. “I will not have you scaring your fellow students with _ lies_. Be silent.”

“They aren’t lies,” Harry snapped. “How can you ignore the signs of his return? People are going missing, one by one. The sky this summer was _ unnatural _ for weeks. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel that he’s back?” 

“No one is back,” Umbridge shrieked, at last losing her pasted-on smile. “You-Know-Who is and has been dead for over a decade. Though it is very sad that Dumbledore would use the words of a traumatized child to further his passing reign, _ that is the truth_. The war is over, and it has been for years now. He must let it go.”

“This has nothing to do with Dumbledore,” Harry said angrily, shooting up from his chair. “This is about all of us–pretending that Voldemort hasn’t returned is only going to make it easier for him, don’t you see?” 

“I see nothing,” Umbridge said tightly, “Now you’ll be wise to be quiet now.”

Harry’s nails slid harshly down the skin of his neck, rage pounding in his ears. “So if dark wizards begin terrorizing our community, that’s none of the Ministry's concern?”

“There are no dark wizards,” she snapped, “Even if there were, they would be no concern of yours.”

“So you don’t believe dark magic users are a threat to the ministry?” Harry said. He was beginning to understand; it didn’t matter to her if he was telling the truth or not. Her masters would stay the same. 

The room had gone completely silent, not a peep from the other students to be heard. No one looked as though they found the situation funny anymore. 

“Detention,” Umbridge said tightly. “You will be joining me in my office tonight at five o’clock.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said, not sounding very sorry at all. “I already _ have _ detention.” He took a small smidgen of joy watching her face redden further.

“Yes, that doesn’t surprise me one bit,” Umbridge sniffed. “No matter, tomorrow then.” 

“That’s fine by me, Professor,” Harry bit out, arms crossed over his chest. The ringing in his ears only got louder. He hadn’t been this angry in a long time, not since the beginning of summer. 

“There are to be no more interruptions,” Umbridge said thinly, “Go back to your assigned reading now, please.”

Harry fell into his chair, jostling open his book without a word, his vision blurring an angry, vibrant red the longer he stared at the page. He turned a page every once in a while, remembering nothing. Umbridge had no interest in acknowledging the truth, only spreading lies that furthered the ministry’s power. He had never seen her during his nightly visits in Voldemort’s mind, but that meant nothing. It didn’t matter if she followed him or not. Their intentions were the same. 

It was strange; he had thought the locket could calm him, to make his anger disappear, but it only seemed to keep the worst of Voldemort’s mind from encroaching on his own. He felt angrier than he had in past years, like he was constantly on a short fuse. 

“It’s the stress, mate,” Ron told him sympathetically, as they left the room after class had ended. “Between You-Know-Who, Umbridge, and everyone thinking you’ve gone barmy, I’m honestly surprised you lasted this long.”

Harry rubbed his forehead. “I blew up on the train just yesterday, remember?” 

Ron snorted, shrugging when Harry’s head snapped toward him. “Look, Harry, it’s obvious she hates you, and there’s nothing you can do about that, considering you hate her back. Just get in and out of her detention, and stay out of her way.”

“Ron’s right,” Hermione said. “Nothing will come out of you arguing with her.”

“I know _ that_,” Harry said irritably. “So what, I just ignore her for the rest of the year? Didn’t you see how she was talking about Dumbledore in there–I think you’re right, Hermione. I think she wants him kicked out of Hogwarts. We can’t let that happen.”

“Dumbledore can take care of himself,” Hermione said firmly, steering him away from the classroom. “At the very least, picking fights with her until she gives you detention isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Harry muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets before groaning. “Merlin’s pants, I better go eat dinner before I have to go down to the dungeons.” 

Ron patted him on the back. “It can’t be too bad at least. He can only have so many disgusting surprises until its back to pickling rat brains, right?” 

“Oh, because pickling rat brains would be my first choice of how to spend my night,” Harry said, though a smile began pulling at his mouth.

“I’m so glad I’ve never had to join either of you on that,” Hermione said with a sniff. “Sometimes not having a reputation of getting into trouble is a good thing.”

“Oh come off it,” Ron said, shaking his head. “If Snape knew you had been the one to light his robes on fire first year, do you think your teacher’s pet reputation would save you?”

Harry burst into laughter as Hermione’s face turned beet red.

“I told you not to bring that up again!” Hermione said, and turned her head, ignoring them both all the way to the Great Hall. 

Detention that night had Harry scrubbing out bottles filled with a sharp, decaying odor. Judging by Snape’s gloating, Harry could only imagine it had once held toad guts or worse. As it was, he managed to get through the detention without gaining another one, which after the day he had counted as a success. 

He collapsed into bed that night, falling asleep instantly due to exhaustion. Though he didn’t remember it in the morning, he dreamt of something odd that night; an oddly familiar face staring into a cracked mirror. It had occurred to him in the dream, that although the boy had the same color hair, the same pale, sickly skin Harry had as a child, the same stick-thin limbs, there was something not quite right about him. Their eyes were too dark, and without big, ugly glasses, entirely visible. The boy, Harry thought, didn’t look very similar to him at all. But in the mirror, as a voice shrieked from behind him outside the door, the flash of red-hot rage that settled onto the boy’s face felt the same. 

When he woke the next morning, he remembered only flashes of the brief time he had spent in Voldemort’s mind, though thankfully the man didn’t seem to have done anything overnight. It was a relief for once not to have to remember someone’s last moments.

In Charms later that morning, Professor Flitwick lectured them sternly on the importance of studying for their OWLs, and McGonagall did much the same thing after their break. With all his other worries, OWLs hadn’t even passed his mind until then, and he spent the rest of the day in a haze of worry. 

Close to five o’clock, Harry headed toward Umbridge’s office. The walls were dressed in pink much like herself when he entered, with rows and rows of moving, meowing cats. Umbridge herself wore a smug, satisfied air about her as he sat down at the table. She gave him a quill to write lines with, a piece of parchment, and told him with a too-sweet smile to write, _ he must not tell lies_. 

A few hours later had Harry perched in a window seat, clutching his hand as he stared blankly out into the night sky, his anger snuffed out like a light. Now he simply felt cold, like there was no fight left in him. The grip on the locket he held in his aching hand grew tighter, though it gave him little comfort. 

“Harry, there you are!” A voice called down from the corridor, and Harry lifted his head to find Hermione striding toward him. He let out a small sigh before hastily slipping the locket back over his head and under his robes. 

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you. When you never showed up after your detention–well, we got worried,” Hermione said as she slowed to a halt in front of him. 

“Hermione here was worried Umbridge had done away with you,” Ron said jokingly as he followed behind her.

Harry reacted a moment too slow, his tense smile lacking authenticity. Ron’s smile faded.

“What happened?” Ron said, stepping closer. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

Harry wondered if it would be better for him to simply hide it, but Hermione did away with that choice a second later.

“What happened to your hand?” Hermione exclaimed, gripping his arm and pulling it away from his body. Though it was fading now, the '_I must not tell lies_’ was still visible, and Ron’s face went white as Hermione let out a hiss of air. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed out. “She’s using a blood quill, that’s illegal that is. Only Gringotts and certain parts of the Ministry are allowed to use them.”

“Then she’s ‘certain parts’ of the Ministry,” Harry said grimly, and hissed when Hermione’s fingers accidentally brushed the wounds. 

“Sorry,” she said, withdrawing her hand as she moved her gaze to look at him. “Harry, this isn’t right. We have to go to a professor, Professor Dumbledore even.”

“No!” Harry said, taking a step away from them. “You didn’t see her, the way she–” Harry broke off, unable to say more. The way she had looked at him while he had written into his own skin was truly sickening. Harry had recognized the expression; seen it over and over reflected in Voldemort’s face as he tortured and killed without mercy, and now someone like that was teaching at Hogwarts. 

“She’s not above the law,” Hermione said firmly. “She can’t be allowed to do this.”

“I think Harry’s right,” Ron said, a sickly cast to his skin. “Just think about it. If we go to Dumbledore, then what?”

“Then he removes her,” Hermione said swiftly.

“But he can’t, don’t you see?” Harry said with a hollow laugh. “He didn’t want her here teaching to begin with, but he couldn’t go against the Ministry, not this time. What do you think would happen if his only reason for trying to push her out is that ‘nutcase Potter’ told him she used a blood quill on him? They would call him a liar like they have all summer, and nothing would change anyway.” 

Hermione’s mouth opened, then closed silently. Ron rubbed at his face vigorously. 

“Even if that were true, I’d reckon she’d get away with it simply by being that close to Fudge,” Ron said. “Some of the things Purebloods get away with because of their blood–some of it is absolutely abhorrent.”

“But that can’t be true,” Hermione said, biting her lip. “The entire ministry at least can’t be entirely corrupt.”

Ron shrugged. “Well, I dunno about that, but a good part of it is at least. I mean, look at Fudge, right?”

“I know Fudge is useless,” Hermione said determinedly. “That was made obvious last year. But they can’t all be like that. Someone would help us.”

“You weren’t at my trial, Hermione,” Harry said darkly. “I bet the number of people who actually believed me could be counted on my fingers. The rest were just following various political leaders, and I barely made it out of there.”

“You never said,” Hermione said, staring at him in shock.

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” Harry said, rubbing his scar unconsciously. “Anyway, no one who is on Dumbledore’s side can help us, and obviously the other side won’t help either. We’re on our own.”

“When are we not,” Ron said, his voice light, but he wasn’t smiling. 

“If we can’t tell the professors then,” Hermione said, regaining some of the brightness in her eyes, “Then we should at least spread the word within Gryffindor about the blood quill. I doubt she would only use it on you, Harry, if what you’re saying is true.”

For a split second, Harry wished bitterly not to tell anyone at all. That they would deserve it, for treating him so poorly over lies. But the resentment slipped away almost as soon as it came, and Harry let out a long sigh. 

“Yeah alright,” he said. “I know you hate it, but with Fred and George’s little operation in the common rooms this week, it will make spreading the word easy.”

Hermione made a face but said nothing, a testament to her determination. As expected, their arrival inside the common room marked a shift in the occupants. There was a split-second of silence when Harry entered through the portrait, and though the bustle of activity started up again, it was twinged with awkwardness.

“Oi–” Ron shouted, and the room went abruptly silent again. “Harry here has something to show you lot.”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed under her breath, grabbing onto his arm. 

“What?” Ron said in a hushed voice back. “How else am I supposed to get their attention?”

“If it’s about the lies he and Dumbledore are spouting, I don’t want to hear it!” Someone shouted from inside the crowd. Harry felt his lip curl. 

“Fortunately for you it’s not,” Harry snapped, and flung out his hand, the writing carved into his flesh clearly visible. A younger year near them tripped over their feet, gasping. 

“W–What is that?” she asked, her eyes wide. 

“A blood quill,” Hermione said grimly. “Now I know there’s some tension among us right now, but regardless, you have more important things to worry about.” 

“Yeah? Like what, exactly?” Seamus said, pushing his way out of the crowd. “Probably did it to himself.”

“Watch it, Finnigan,” Ron said darkly. “We both know you don’t believe that anyway.” 

Seamus’s hands curled into fists, though the sneer on his face faded away. “So who did it then?” 

“Umbridge,” Harry said. “I don’t think it was a special case for me, either. If she’ll use it on me, she’ll use it on any of you.”

The room broke out into whispers, as a few people edged closer to see Harry’s hand, the discomfort clear on their faces. 

“That’s madness!” Neville said, as he appeared suddenly out of the crowd. “How isn’t she afraid of being caught? My grandmother would never allow something like this to continue, and many other families wouldn’t either.” 

Harry was struck silent as he realized he hadn’t thought about that. Surely if enough old, pureblooded families complained, she would be kicked out. But if that were true, then why did she do nothing to hide it?

“She wasn’t worried about me telling anyone,” Harry said, looking between Neville and his friends. “I hadn’t thought about it but it’s true.”

“That’s bad,” Neville said, shaking his head. “She has to have more than one backer other than Fudge, to be this confident.”

Unease spread across Harry’s features. Who could be more powerful than the Minister of Magic? He turned toward Hermione unconsciously, but she looked as stumped as he did.

“You only had that one detention, didn’t you, Harry?” Fred called out, and Harry’s gaze snapped over the crowd to find him and his brother sitting over them on a table.

“Just this one,” Harry confirmed. 

“Good,” he said, with a too-sharp grin. “Too many times in a row and that wound would permanently scar.”

Harry recoiled, cradling his hand to his chest. The idea of having _ liar _ permanently written into his skin was nauseating. He couldn’t get any more detentions, he couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t let that happen. 

“Confident or not, she’s bloody daft if she thinks she can contain this,” An upper-year said, McLaggen if Harry remembered right. “Once we tell our families, she’ll be out regardless of who’s protecting her.”

But as they soon discovered, there was a reason Umbridge didn’t fear the truth getting out. 


	5. Chapter 5

The next evening, the Gryffindor common room was packed to the brim with people waiting for even a single speck of news. A few of their housemates had sent owls to their families earlier in the day, but so far none of them had received any letters back. There was an undercurrent of tension in the room making the conversation, if there was any, stifled. 

“At least your hand is beginning to look better,” Hermione said finally, after a long stretch of silence.

Harry looked down at the red, puffy wound, but didn’t see much of a difference. “I guess so.”

“You know she won’t get away with this, right?” Hermione said, her voice taut with worry. She sounded as though she were trying to convince herself more than him. “She just can’t.”

Harry didn’t respond, not having anything left to say. Dread had been building in his gut all day like a bad stomach ache, and he didn’t feel nearly as certain as Hermione did about Umbridge facing justice. Hermione hadn’t seen the way Umbridge had looked at him, with that smile that oozed satisfaction. She didn’t fear being caught. His fingers spasmed against the chain of the locket, but not even holding it seemed to ease his anxiety. Something had gone wrong, he was sure of it. 

The portrait door suddenly burst open, Neville tumbling through a second later. He was out of breath and his face was red. Harry jumped to his feet.

“I got a letter back from Gran,” Neville gasped out, all but collapsing into one of the chairs nearest him. All eyes seemed to converge on him, though the boy didn’t seem to notice. A few people, including Harry, moved closer.

“You didn’t need to run back here,” Fred said, his voice light. “You look as though you’re about to pass out.”

Neville shook his head. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he said, his voice beginning to smooth out as he caught his breath. “I’ll open it now.”

The boy tore open the envelope with his fingers before pulling out the letter itself. Harry watched as Neville’s eyes moved back and forth, line by line as his expression slowly drooped. The brightness he had as he entered the common room began to fade, replaced with confusion. The surrounding crowd watching him had gone completely silent as they waited. At what seemed like the end of the letter, Neville gave a faint shudder, before he looked up at them.

“She doesn’t even mention it, not once,” he said unsurely. “Nothing about the quill.” 

Hermione pushed forward from the crowd. “May I see that, Neville?”

Neville hesitated for a moment, before handing the letter over. Hermione plucked it from his grasp, her eyes moving quickly over the parchment. 

“Well?” Harry said impatiently. His dread only continued to grow. 

“This can’t be right,” Hermione muttered. Her eyes snapped toward Neville. “Did you write anything about taking tea with her?”

“Of _course _not,” Neville stressed. “That's what is so strange about this. I wrote about how she used a blood quill on a student, not about taking tea and crumpets!” 

Hermione breathed out. “Then you were right, Harry.” She slowly turned her gaze toward him. “This is why she wasn’t afraid of you telling anyone. She’s watching our mail.” 

The crowd of students jolted back if they had been burned. 

“Now that’s definitely illegal,” Ron said. “No way to spin it.”

“But she can’t possibly be checking _ all _ of our mail, can she?” Lavender Brown asked anxiously, curling hair around her fingers. 

“That’s one part of this I don’t understand,” Hermione said, turning toward the other girl. “There’s only one of her and way more of us.”

“Maybe she’s just checking those who would most likely send out a letter about her?” A younger year said. 

“Yeah,” Seamus said, crossing his arms. “Maybe she’s just checking those close to _ you_.” 

Harry’s jaw tightened. “Don’t try to blame this on me.” 

“Don’t be daft Seamus,” Ron said, shaking his head. “You don’t get to blame every bad thing that happens on Harry.” Seamus’s gaze snapped toward the redhead, his mouth curling into a snarl. 

Before a fight could break out, however, George spoke up. “We have to test it.”

“How would we do that?” Harry said, scratching at his neck. “There’s no way she won’t be checking the letters from everyone from Gryffindor now.”

“Who said anything about Gryffindor?” George said with a faint grin. “Don’t worry, Harry. We have our ways.” 

Though he wasn’t sure what George had meant exactly, by the next morning, seemingly all those within Hogwarts’ walls had been informed that Umbridge had used a blood quill on a student. That student, of course, being Harry. 

“I dunno how you did it,” Ron told his brothers as they sat down for breakfast. “But this is impressive, even for you two.” 

Fred grinned as he patted Ron’s shoulder. “It was only a little gossip, and this school lives for any sort of drama. A professor using an illegal object on a student? That’s juicy stuff.” 

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t have thought of using the gossips of this school, but I suppose it worked rather well.” 

It worked more than just well–even the professors seemed to have been informed. Dumbledore was noticeably absent from the Great Hall, and McGonagall sat stiffly in her seat, not looking at Umbridge, who herself looked completely unruffled. Her crimes being out in the open didn’t seem to worry her in the slightest. She sat up at the staff table in her usual pink collared robes, with that sickly sweet smile stretched unpleasantly across her face. 

“Did you hear?” A hushed voice said from behind them as Ginny slid onto the bench beside them. “Some younger year from Hufflepuff came back to their common room last night with their hand all bloody. Apparently they took what Umbridge had to say about what happened last year badly and got a detention for it.”

“What?” Harry said, swinging toward her. “What happened?”

Ginny shook her head, “I only just heard about it. Think it had something to do with Cedric Diggory, he was very well-liked in Hufflepuff. I guess Umbridge dismissing his murder didn’t sit well with them.” 

“Merlin,” Neville said, eyes wide. “Not that I didn’t believe you, Harry, but this proves she would use it on other students.” 

“Wait,” Harry said, turning his head back toward Ginny. “You said younger year. How young?”

“Second year,” Ginny said darkly, taking a large helping of sliced ham.

Ron’s skin had an ill cast to it as he swallowed. “She used a blood quill on a twelve year old? That’s worse than evil.” 

“It’s monstrous,” Hermione said, thin-lipped. “Not that it’s different with you, Harry, only it is different. Right now the ministry is slandering you, and honestly, you’re not very well-liked at the moment. But using it on a child is an entirely different matter.” 

“She certainly doesn’t look worried about it,” Ron said, shaking his head. “Look at her up there _ gloating. _”

Harry stole one last glance at the staff stable before planting his eyes firmly on his breakfast instead. Whatever Fred and George had planned, he hoped it worked–and soon.

Umbridge was promptly forgotten, however, the moment Harry and Ron found themselves in the Divination classroom for the third time that year. The teacups neatly laid out over the tables had both of them groaning in despair. 

“Every year I regret taking this class,” Harry muttered under his breath as he took a seat. 

“Oh come on, mate,” Ron said, sitting across from him. “It’s easy.”

“That’s the only reason I’m taking it,” Harry shot back. “But in the first week does she really have to get out the bloody teacups?” 

Ron grinned. “Well, you may get lucky this year. I mean so far she hasn’t predicted anything for you yet.” 

“Merlin’s beard, I hate divination,” Harry said as Trelawney began class. After she had said her piece, they were left on their own, much to his relief. 

“It says here changes are coming your way,” Ron said. His eyes crinkled with laughter as he scanned through their textbook. “Sort of looks like a cross maybe…”

Harry slumped in his seat, his chin leaning on his hand. “Oh, but I’m already suffering enough in this class alone,” Harry said cynically, his mood taking a swift turn as he realized he’d seen the symbol enough times in his tea leaves to know what it meant. “Merlin’s pants.”

Ron looked up from the teacup, still chortling. “What is it?”

“What does it say about me that I actually recognize what a cross means with tea leaves?” Harry said, pushing Ron’s cup back and forth between his hands.

“That you hold a very exciting life?” Ron said. “Anyway, it’s my turn. What do the tea leaves say about me?”

“That you’re a right ass,” Harry muttered and Ron exploded into laughter. 

“I’m serious,” Ron said, his voice wobbling with mirth. “I want to know my future, here.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry said, picking up the cup and peering inside. As usual, the clumps of chopped up leaves meant nothing to him.

“I suppose this piece looks a bit like an acorn,” Harry said after a moment. “Or a skull, I suppose.”

“An acorn it is then,” Ron said. “At least it’s not the grim.”

“Keep it down,” Harry hissed under his breath. “Don’t get her started on that.”

“Who am I to mess with tradition?” Ron said with a grin, but he thankfully didn’t bring it up again.

The rest of the day moved along quickly. Potions went without incident for once, though Harry tried to be on his best behavior. Transfiguration class had them attempting to vanish a snail for the third time, and as Harry hadn’t practiced the night before, his own attempts were abysmal. Harry could take only small comfort in that Ron was struggling as much as he was, though Hermione seemed to not feel her own lack of practice.

“How do you do it?” Ron muttered as they left the classroom, jostling with his bookbag. “Really, you didn’t practice any more than we did last night, though you seem do be doing just fine without it.”

“I actually _read _the passage on it in our textbook,” Hermione stressed as they headed down the hallway. “That’s what it’s there for–to help you.” 

A small burst of laughter escaped Harry’s lips and he struggled to shut them as Ron shot him a particularly nasty look.

“What are you laughing about?” Ron said, crossing his arms. “Not like you were doing any better.” 

“Ah, but my hand was hurting so much, I just couldn’t help it,” Harry said, his lips quirking. 

“Ha,” Ron said, shaking his head. “You’re hilarious.”

“Is it still hurting?” Hermione said, her voice tinged with worry. “Essence of murlap should help some, but it isn’t a quick cure.”

“It’s fine,” Harry answered quickly. “It really helped, thank you, Hermione.” 

Hermione beamed at him. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. I can help you two for a little while after dinner if you’d like.”

Ron’s expression brightened before his smile dimmed. “I have that ruddy astronomy essay to do,” his friend grumbled as they entered the Great Hall. “Why is Astronomy required again?”

“It’s a valued art,” Lavender sniffed as she moved past them, leaving the three of them standing in the doorway. 

“Apparently it’s a valued art, Ron,” Harry said under his breath, and Ron smacked into him with his shoulder as they began walking again.

“You’re a right comedian today,” Ron said with a snort. “Anyway, I’m starved. Let’s eat.” 

With such an eventful week, the amount of homework Harry had to do had him in dire straits. Though Hermione helped them for an hour or so that night, Harry and Ron spent the rest of the evening buried in work, right up until Fred and George arrived.

“We bring bad news,” George said as they perched on a table, and Harry noticed the mountain of letters between them. He put down his quill.

“What are all those?” Harry asked, pointing toward their letters.

“These,” Fred said darkly, “Were hours of hard work, but I suppose they did pay off.” 

The common room went uncharacteristically silent as people quieted down to listen. 

“First,” George said with a flourish. “We made several types of letters. Some with our names on them, some with other names, some which mentioned the blood quill, and some that didn’t. Then we asked a couple of students in other houses that owed us favors to send them for us, though we personally sent some as well.”

“So what happened?” Harry said, abandoning his work completely to move closer.

George shrugged. “They all came back as you can see, with no mention of blood quills, and the only ones concerning Umbridge have her being praised now instead.”

“But that’s–a lot of letters,” Hermione said, her eyes stuck firmly on the pile of mail between the two. “How could she have changed all of those within the day, while still having time to have the letters be sent out and replied to?”

“A question we had ourselves, Granger,” George said. “So we asked an upper-year who owes us a favor–”

“How many people owe you favors?” Ron said under his breath.

“Who happens to be well-versed in wards as it happens,” George continued, ignoring his brother’s words. “As we said before, we sent out many letters–all of which were addressed to us though not always with our names, so we could see the changes she made. Then we sent them back to us again and still received subtle changes. This proves several things; one is that she is going through _ all _ mail, regardless of who is sending or receiving it.”

“That’s wretched,” someone muttered from a near table.

“Two; though she is going through our mail, it isn’t _personally _per se. The letters we received the first time were changed to remove all mention of the blood quill and any negative connotations of Umbridge. When we received them back again, they had also been changed again, regardless of the fact she had already removed all that she wanted gone the first time.”

“It’s an autonomous quill?” Hermione burst out, as she stood up from her seat. “But even if that’s true, how is she getting our mail in the first place?”

“That’s what we’re thinking,” Fred said grimly. “Our warding-enthusiast thinks it’s a mail diverter ward which makes all mail go straight to her first. You know, also very illegal.”

“There’s no way she could get away with all of this,” Hermione said, her hands curling into fists. “That’s what, like three or four different criminal offenses?”

“Ah,” Fred said, pointing a finger toward her. “That’s our next point–what is making her so confident she can hide all of this? And then we realized; she isn’t hiding anything at all.”

“What?” Hermione said. “Are you saying she had _ permission _ to do this?”

George tilted his head. “For the mail ward? Absolutely. Just think about it; she’s made it very clear that she’s gunning for Dumbledore. Now who do we know that has the power to grant permission for use of such things, and similarly hates our dear headmaster?”

“Fudge?” Harry said in disbelief. “You really think he’s in on this? He’s dumb as a bag of bricks but he isn’t cruel.”

Fred tittered for a moment before coughing. “Not exactly. We think he gave Umbridge permission to use it for any mention of Dumbledore, but she’s just using it for herself as well.” 

“That still doesn’t explain the blood quill,” Harry said, his grip on the back of the couch tightening. “Fudge can’t know about that–it would hurt his reputation.”

“I don’t know about that,” Fred said. “But I’m sure he said something to the effect of, _ do whatever you think is necessary. _”

Harry let out a bitter laugh. “What do they think Dumbledore is doing? Planning a government takeover? Merlin, that’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous or not, it’s our current theory,” George said firmly. “It’s safe to say that any mail any of you plan on sending will at the very least, be treated to an autonomous pen.”

“What if we send the mail outside of Hogwarts?” Ginny pipped up from her seat. “The first Hogsmeade weekend is at the end of the month.”

George coughed. “Well, you see–we’ve actually already tried that.”

“_What_?” Hermione said sharply. “You’ve been outside of school boundaries?”

“It was for a good cause,” Fred said hastily. “Anyway, her mail ward extends to Hogsmeade, at the very least.”

“Couldn’t you have told someone while there?” Harry asked suddenly. “I mean, they could go to Diagon Alley and send it there for you.”

Fred snorted. “Well for one, we weren’t supposed to be there, remember? Secondly, who are they supposed to tell, the papers? The Daily Prophet only reports on what the Ministry wants, and right now the Ministry is dog-piling you and Dumbledore. They would never report on some small, shopkeeper’s word. As for them taking a letter for us to deliver–the same thing happens. Why would a student risk sneaking down to Hogsmeade to give a letter to a stranger to send with an anonymous owl from Diagon? It’s outrageous–and that’s exactly why Umbridge doesn’t fear the truth getting out. You have to admit, she’s thought this through.”

Harry sunk back down into his seat, completely out of ideas.

“But what about the Holidays?” Hermione asked. “Surely then when students go home they can tell their families regardless.” 

Fred shook his head. “Now that, we haven’t figured out yet. But it’s a long time until the winter Holidays, and a lot can change within a few months.” 

“You think she’s going to push to have Dumbledore removed before then,” Harry said grimly. “Then it would be our word against the headmistress of Hogwarts with the Ministry behind her.”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Fred said, his voice going quiet. “But it’s going to be an interesting year, that’s for sure.”

After a few more minutes of tense conversation, Harry had enough and went to bed. The last of his hope for having Umbridge thrown out had shriveled and died, and now he was left lying listlessly in bed. Voldemort was out there right now, abducting and killing Ministry workers for something he wanted desperately, all the while the Ministry aimed to make an enemy out of the one man Voldemort still feared. Eventually, Voldemort would come for Harry, and Harry’s running streak of luck would run out. There was no one to teach him how to get stronger, how to have even the meager sliver of a chance to survive. 

What could he do against a man like Voldemort when Harry couldn’t even vanish a snail right?

* * *

Most wizards Harry met were like insects–small, insignificant, and easy to crush under his heal. Even his own followers, who loved him and feared him equally, were nothing more than _vermin_.

“You were to report to me on the Ministry official,” Harry said calmly. “You said, and I quote, ‘_I’ll have information on him next week _’. It is now ‘next week’, now isn’t it?”

“My Lord,” A thin, weedy looking man said, his voice pleading. “I need more time. They are crafty, I haven’t been able to learn which of them actually work for the department. It’s as though they know–”

“Silence,” Harry snapped, his long fingers tapping the table harshly. “I don’t want your wretched excuses. I thought you were the man for the job, but you _disappoint me_. Perhaps I should give your job to someone else…”

The man’s eyes widened in horror, and he fell to his knees, as Harry had known he would. 

“My Lord, please,” The man begged. “I will figure it out this week, I am certain. I just need a little more time, I won’t fail you.” 

Harry rolled his neck slowly, not speaking. A droplet of sweat slipped down the man’s cheek.

“I suppose I could grant such a mercy,” Harry said finally, looking down at his hands. They were different now, than his original body. Longer, unnaturally pale and thin. They looked as though they belonged to a corpse. The thought angered him. 

The man jumped up, hands shaking in front of his chest. “Thank you, my Lord! Th–”

He cut off with a horrible wail as the spell aimed true. He howled and shrieked and cried terribly as the _ cruciatus _ curse burned through him. It took a long while before the man finally quieted and Harry released the spell, much to his own discontent. 

It was disappointing when they stopped making noise. 

Harry woke up gasping for breath, his shirt stuck to skin slick with sweat. He lurched out of his bed, nearly getting tangled in his curtains. His scar burned as though it were touching hot iron. 

The room was dark, the windows outside only showing blackness. There was a small speck of light on the horizon, though Harry knew it would be hours before the rest of his dormmates woke. Reluctantly, Harry slipped back onto his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He reached for the locket unconsciously, slipping it between his fingers. 

Voldemort seemed as equally enthralled with his new body as he was disgusted. He didn’t feel pain anymore, not like he used to, but the unearthly quality to it sometimes had him falling headfirst into a rage. When Voldemort thought of his own death, anger would overtake him in an instant, but Harry knew beneath it all was _fear_. For as much killing as he did, Voldemort feared his own death above all else, and during those moments where Harry _was _ Voldemort, he would fear it too. 

The pain kept him awake for far longer than Harry wanted, and it felt as though he had only managed to fall back asleep when Ron was already shaking him awake. 

“I’m up,” Harry mumbled, batting away his friend’s hands. “Stop that.”

“You’re usually awake before I am,” Ron said with a large yawn. “Your scar hurting again?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead. “How’d you know?”

“What else would have you sleeping this late?” Ron said rhetorically. “Anyway, I’m off to breakfast.”

Harry rolled slowly out of bed. “I’ll catch up soon.”

The day passed in a haze of pain, though by lunchtime it began to fade. In Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch, Harry was still in enough pain he could do nothing but silently open his textbook and pretend to read. Umbridge looked unnaturally smug as the rest of the class stayed quiet, doing similarly. They had all seen his hand by now, and wanted no part in getting a matching set.

After D.A.D.A, Harry spent most of History of Magic fast asleep, much to Hermione’s discontent. It quickly proved worth it, however, when he woke with the pain in his scar having disappeared. 

“You seem to be doing better,” Hermione remarked upon with a sniff as they left the classroom, and Harry smiled sheepishly at her. 

“It seemed to have helped,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck.

“I’m going to let it pass _ this _ time,” Hermione said imperiously. “But you have to stay awake during classes.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry said. “It’s not like I was going to learn anything in there anyway.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Ron beat her to it.

“He didn’t even notice,” Ron said with a grin. “Hell, I bet as long as you had someone respond as you during attendance, you’d never need to go anyway.”

“Ron!” Hermione said, sounding outraged. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Harry burst into laughter, Ron quickly following suit. “Oh come off it, Hermione. You said it yourself not that long ago, the ghost is useless.”

Hermione groaned, not looking at either of them. “I don’t know why I bother.”

As they stepped into the Great Hall, Harry spoke again. 

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry said. “I’ll try not to sleep in class again.”

“Good,” she answered shortly, though the stiffness in her face began to soften.

Harry hesitated. “Tonight–”

“Yes?”

“Could you maybe help us with the vanishing spell again?” Harry said, meeting her gaze as they found a seat at the table. 

Hermione sighed. “Well, alright. After dinner, then?”

“Sure, that would be great,” Harry said before Ron made a small noise.

“You have tryouts, remember?” Ron said, and Harry blinked, startled.

“Er, right,” Harry said, scratching his head. “Forgot about that. I think it starts–” 

“Right now,” A voice said from behind him and Harry swung around to meet Angelina’s glittering eyes. Harry jumped up on instinct, grabbing a buttered roll.

“Now, of course,” Harry repeated hastily, grabbing this bag. “I’ll be back after.”

“Wait,” Ron said, standing up behind him. “I’m–”

Harry turned to find his friend turning pink. “What?” 

“I’m trying out,” Ron said stiffly, his ears bright red. “For keeper.” 

“Oh,” Harry said without thinking, before he realized what the boy had said. “Really? That would be great!”

“You think so?” Ron said, not looking at Harry’s face. “I figured I could try, you know, since I’m decent at playing keeper during the summer with Fred and George.”

“It’d be brilliant,” Harry said firmly, before quickly tugging his friend along as Angelina caught his eye again. 

They were halfway down the hall towards the door when footsteps behind them had Harry swinging around, ready for a fight, though it was only Hermione. His shoulders sagged.

“Have people been giving you trouble when we aren’t around?” Hermione asked keenly as she fell into step with them.

“Not really,” Harry muttered. “Nevermind that. What are you doing here?”

“I figured I can’t miss tryouts if both of you are there,” Hermione said, her nose raised in the air. Harry felt a small smile curve his lips. 

“It would be nice to have another friend on the team,” Harry said slyly, and his friend huffed.

“I’d rather sign up for Professor Flitwick’s choir,” she said tartly and Ron guffawed.

“I can see you,” Ron said through laughter. “Up there holding one of those toads.” 

She flushed pink. “I could say the same to you, Ronald!” Hermione said, and sped up to walk ahead of them. 

Harry shot his friend a look as they moved out into the open courtyard, where the autumn season had begun to turn the air brisk.

“What?” Ron said, shrugging his shoulders. “I thought it was funny.”

“It _ was _ funny, but don’t tell Hermione that,” Harry said under his breath.

Ron held up his hands, snickering. “Well, I’m certainly no snitch. That would be a killing-the-messenger kind of situation, anyway.”

When the two of them arrived down on the fields, Angelina was already outside dressed to fly. Harry and Ron made their way to the changing rooms to put on their quidditch robes while Hermione had found a place on the bleachers to sit already. She wasn’t the only one there; a few other Gryffindors were already gathered to cheer their friends on, and there were a few from the other houses as well, though they were most likely there to scout out the enemy instead. 

Once changed, Harry strayed toward the field to meet up with his quidditch captain. Angelina had been joined by Fred and George at some point during the time Harry was in the changing room, with Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell soon following. With all of them present, tryouts soon began. 

“I hate to pick favorites but Weasley seems to be doing well,” Angelina said as she passed Harry some time later. “He’s caught nearly every quaffle thrown at him, though you can tell he’s nervous. There’s a few that are better, though they all have their own problems which I’m not sure I want to deal with.” 

Harry held a hand over his head in an attempt to blotch out the sun. Overhead, he watched Ron’s hands seem to shake. 

“He’s playing well, though I may be a bit biased,” he answered her.

Angelina sighed. “The keeper position seems to be as good as his already, though I’d feel bad going ahead and giving it to him now. I’d like to do a few more exercises with them to make it fair. Honestly, another Weasley. Aren’t his brothers enough for the Quidditch team?”

Harry grinned as she left him, finding his gaze shift to Hermione sitting in the stands. He began to walk toward her.

“How’s he doing?” She asked him as he got close enough to hear her.

“Well enough,” Harry said, lifting himself into the stands and finding a seat next to her. She lifted a brow.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out there helping?” Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. “I’m not flying today or anything. They’re testing out how well they can keep a quaffle out of the goals, and Angelina has already asked my opinion. It’s nearly done I reckon.”

“So you get to laze up here with the rest of us,” Hermione said humorously, but her expression turned serious moments later. “He’s really hoping to get the spot, isn’t he?” 

“I think so,” Harry said, leaning back in his seat. “I hadn’t known he was going to try out, did you?”

“No,” Hermione answered back. “If he was practicing he was being stealthy about it.”

“It’d be nice to have him be on the team,” Harry said with a yawn. Though he had napped during History of Magic, his lack of sleep was catching up with him. He closed his eyes just for a moment, Hermione’s reply fading out. 

For what seemed like a few minutes later, Harry jolted awake when someone cheered loudly next to him. Hermione was standing up, her cheeks flushed with excitement. 

“He did it!” Hermione said, her eyes bright as she caught his gaze. “He’s on the team!”

Harry hastily got to his feet, eyes wandering over the field until he found his friend, looking caught between stunned and heady exhilaration. 

“Let’s head down,” Harry said, moving toward the bottom of the stands, Hermione following after him. 

They hurried down to the field, Hermione all but tackling Ron when they arrived. After a few minutes of congratulating him, the two of them went to go change, meeting up with Hermione who had waited for them on the path back up to Hogwarts. 

“It’s going to be great to have you on the team,” Harry said with a wide smile as they walked up to the castle. Ron looked the most cheerful he’d seemed in months.

“Never thought I’d actually get on, you know?” Ron said, scratching the back of his head. “But I reckon if Angelina thinks I’m good enough…”

“It’s fantastic,” Hermione said. “You’ll do great.”

Ron’s chest puffed up slightly. “Fred and George said they were going to host a party tonight in the common room. You’ll both come, right?”

Harry yawned again before quickly covering his mouth with a hand. “Er–course I will.” 

Hermione nodded her head in agreement before her lips thinned. “Fred and George wouldn’t be sneaking out to get alcohol for this, would they?” she said coolly.

Ron froze for a split second before his smile turned stiff. “Of course not. When would they have time for that?”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Well, they apparently had time to sneak out yesterday without notice. It’s not much of a stretch to think they would do it again,” she said fiercely.

Harry began to watch curiously between the two, wondering if Ron could keep his composure. His recent victory seemed to help bolster him. He mirrored her posture, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. 

“They’re too busy working on their snackboxes to do something like that, Hermione,” Ron said, shaking his head. “You’re getting paranoid if you ask me.”

“Well I didn’t ask you,” Hermione said in an icy tone. “Speaking of those, you never help me when I find them experimenting on first years. You’re a prefect! You’re supposed to help me shut things like that down, not laugh at it!”

“They’re my brothers,” he argued, eyes looking away as he picked at something on his arm. “They know where I sleep.”

“_I _ know where you sleep,” Hermione snapped back just as quickly, and her nearly silent steps became something closer to a stomp. “I can’t believe you.”

Harry began to tune them out, as their bickering became all too familiar. At this point, he must have heard the same argument at least four or five times since coming back to Hogwarts. Arriving back at the common room, Harry sunk into one of the armchairs next to the fireplace, and put in an effort to at least stay awake for a few hours. Sometime between getting back and midnight, he woke to cheering. Ron stood a few feet away, holding a goblet of fizzing butterbeer. Harry turned his head to find Hermione sitting in the chair next to him, holding a goblet herself. 

“It’s only butterbeer,” she said despondently, and it was clear she had given up.

“Did you think they were going to smuggle in fire whiskey?” Harry asked as he rubbed his eyes from under his glasses.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Hermione said darkly. “Those two don’t know when to quit.”

Harry let out a loud laugh before his mouth shut with an audible pop. A younger year was staring at him with wide eyes, and the fear etched into his features sapped away all the joy Harry had left. Harry stood up without thinking, wanting to suddenly get away. He was tired of being looked at like that. The distrust he understood, but the fear was something else.

“I have to get out of here,” Harry muttered, and headed toward the staircase up to the dorms. He moved quickly up the steps, falling onto his bed with a loud sigh once he had reached his room. A moment later, footsteps sounded on the stairs, Hermione appearing in the doorway soon after. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be up here,” Harry said, trying for a smile. It fell flat. 

“What just happened?” Hermione asked, moving slowly across the room. “You seemed fine and then you were suddenly escaping up here. Was it, you know–?”

“No, it wasn’t Voldemort,” Harry said simply. He sat up on his bed. “Can you explain something to me?”

“I can try,” Hermione said, taking a seat on Ron’s bed. Harry fell back against his pillow. 

“Sometimes the way people look at me, it’s not just that they hate me, or that they distrust me, or they think that I’m some crazy liar. They look at me as though I am their worst fears come to life, and I don’t understand that. Why do people fear me now?” Harry said, his fingers playing with the chain of the locket. He turned his gaze toward his friend, who was clearly hesitating. Before either of them had a chance to speak, however, Ron burst through the door, a goofy grin spread over his features. 

“What are you guys even doing up here?” Ron said, leaning against the door. The smile faded slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Why are people afraid of me?” Harry said without thinking. The smile disappeared entirely. 

“Mate…” Ron said slowly, and he moved further into the room.

Harry blinked, before waving his hand. “Nevermind, you should go celebrate. Don’t let me ruin the mood.”

“It’s alright,” Ron said, coming to stand at the edge of his bed. “Honestly, I’ve been wondering the same, but I wasn’t sure you had noticed.”

“‘Course I noticed,” Harry said tiredly. “Some poor girl jumped in fright yesterday when I entered the room. What is even with that?”

Hermione made a small noise in the back of her throat. “You really want to know?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Well, how do I start–it has to do with Cedric, of course.”

Harry leaned back up. “What about him? How would what happened with him make people afraid of me?”

“Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Hermione said slowly. “I mean, think about it. It all happened so fast last year; one minute we were celebrating in the stands and the next you had appeared with his body.”

“So?” Harry said defensively. “Why does that matter?”

“All summer the front page of every paper was a print of yours or Dumbledore’s face. Every day they read that you had gone mad, or you were a liar.”

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” Ron said, staring at her. “I think he gets it.”

“No, go on,” Harry said, a pit growing in his stomach as Hermione shot Ron an irritated look.

“So think about how you might think of this, as an outsider,” Hermione said slowly as she turned back to him. “If you believe Harry is a liar, and that Voldemort isn’t really back, then why lie at all?”

There was a pause, as Harry was beginning to understand. “You mean about Cedric–”

“The Triwizard tournament is a very dangerous game. There’s a reason it was banned for such a long time. People died, quite often in fact. There are those who believe that–”

Hermione hesitated, and Harry sighed. “Just say it.”

“They think you killed him and then panicked, so you made up this idea that Voldemort had killed him instead.” 

Ron flinched as though he had been physically hit. “Oh come off it,” he said, looking between the two of them. “You’re joking.”

“She’s not,” Harry croaked, slumping back into his bed. “I get it now. They’re scared of me not because I’m a liar, but because I’m a _ murderer_.” 

“That’s a load of bollocks,” Ron swore. “How could they think that? You were crying over his body for Merlin’s sake.” 

“But I’m a liar, Ron,” Harry snapped. “I may as well be faking tears then, too.” 

Ron slumped down next to him. “Merlin,” he said, sinking onto the bed.

“There’s nothing I can do, can I?” Harry said, staring up at his ceiling. “This isn’t even like second year. They think I really killed him.”

“It’s gotten better since the start of classes,” Hermione said quickly. “It’s easy to think up plots when you’re away, but being around you again burst a lot of those ideas for some.”

“Still,” Harry said softly. “People think I’m a _ murderer_.” It hurt worse the longer he thought about it. How many people had he killed as Voldemort? How many families like Cedric’s were grieving someone lost to Voldemort’s wand?

“I think I’ll go to bed early,” Harry said. “Thanks for telling me.”

Hermione looked stricken. “Oh, Harry. I wish I hadn’t said anything.”

“I’m glad you did,” Harry said quietly. “I know the truth now.”

Ron looked between the two of them. “Well, hey, once the Ministry accepts that Voldemort is back, people will have to acknowledge the truth regardless.”

“That could be a very long time,” Harry said, thinking of Umbridge. He felt cold. “You two should head back to the party. It’s your party, anyway.” 

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, as though looking for guidance. Finally, Hermione stood up with a soft sigh, brushing down her robes.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she said, moving toward the door. After a moment, Ron followed after her, and they disappeared from sight. Harry closed his eyes, his fingers curling around the locket. 

Sometimes, he wished his problems could be solved by another. That he would wake up, and Voldemort would be dead, and Umbridge would be gone. When he was young, he had wished similarly about the Dursleys. He had prayed someone would come and bring him to a better life. 

But even with magic, miracles were only wishful thinking. Or worse, they were lies. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I got stuck on this last chapter for awhile during editing it haha

He woke the next morning out of a nightmare ripe with madness, droplets of sweat clinging to the back of his neck. There had been a woman crumpled on the floor, blood running rivulets over her limbs, staining her robes red. She had known things about the ministry, knowledge Voldemort desired above all else–and what Voldemort wanted, he got. Now she was dead, dragged away by a man in one of those bone-white masks after a sickly green light had struck her, and Harry laid uncomfortably awake in his bed, yellow morning sun splashed over his face. 

The satisfaction Voldemort felt was bleeding into Harry’s own thoughts, and he struggled out of bed, padding into the bathroom. He retched into the toilet moments later, and ended up at the sink, splashing cold water over his face in an attempt to forget it, forget _ her_. But the image of her last, gurgling breath was seared into his mind, flashing behind his eyelids. 

Harry stared down into the sink, watching water slip into the drain. He hadn’t told the full scope of his visions to anyone, and it didn’t seem like he ever would. The idea of having to explain what he saw night after night made him feel sicker than he already did. 

When he finally turned off the faucet, looking up into the mirror, his eyes were a dark, sickly red.

Harry flinched away from the sink, breath hitching as his hands shot out to balance himself. When he looked back into the foggy glass, his eyes were the same green they always were. Releasing a slow breath, Harry leaned away, scrubbing at his face with his hands. Sometimes Harry wondered where he ended, and where Voldemort began. It wasn’t so clearcut anymore, not since he had resurrected. 

Harry pulled out the locket from under his shirt, holding it up in the dim light. Fear shot down his spine. It was his only defense against the worst of Voldemort’s emotions. If it stopped working, if he lost it…

He couldn’t go back to the way he had been at the start of the summer, not again. It felt as though he was being poisoned from the inside, from a place he couldn’t protect against. 

Dropping the locket back under his shirt, Harry headed for the door, moving quietly through the shared room. He carefully pulled on his robes and a pair of shoes, and headed down the stairs. 

There were a few people sitting by the fire when he got to the common room, and one sprawled over a table, nose splattered with ink. The few awake went silent as he entered and left the room, not bothering to greet them. Now he knew the reason for people’s reluctance to talk to him; he wouldn’t want to be friendly with a murderer either. 

Harry nearly skipped breakfast, not wanting to spend time in the Great Hall alone. It felt awful when people moved away from him, not wanting to even sit close by. He ate a few bites of toast before abruptly leaving, unable to take it anymore. It felt like he was giving up like a coward, but without Ron or Hermione, there was nothing to distract him from seeing all the looks he was given by other students. 

It was getting colder as summer faded into autumn. The trees in the courtyard were beginning to shed red and orange leaves, and Harry knew from experience that snow would follow soon after. He ended up down the hill toward Hagrid’s house. It was strange having it be so still and dark, with no smoke rising from the fireplace and no lights shining through the windows. For as long as he could remember, there had been a steady stream of smoke puffing out of the chimney. Now there was nothing but boarded-up windows and an overgrown garden. 

Harry stood there for a long time, feeling as though it was yet one more thing that had changed, one more thing Voldemort had ruined. His hands clenched into fists. He was just so _ tired_. 

It was like a dream. Harry felt his eyes flutter shut for just a moment–then the sun was higher in the sky then he remembered, and the cold morning air had warmed significantly. He blinked in surprise, looking around the grounds in that dazed state. He had been standing there for longer than he thought. A moment later he cursed, rushing off toward the Quidditch field. He had no idea what time it was, not bothering to check while in the Great Hall, too preoccupied with his thoughts. Now he was probably late. 

When he reached the changing rooms, he threw open the door, and was met with the wide-eyed, panicked looking Ron. His face was as white as chalk. 

“What happened?” Harry said, closing the door behind him. 

“Where have you been?” Ron demanded, “I waited for you at breakfast but you never showed.”

“Er–” Harry said, as he slipped out of his outer robes. “I was just wandering around. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” A voice said from behind them, and Harry turned to see Fred walking toward him, a sardonic grin stretched across his face. “Ron here has just been pitching a fit for a good five minutes now.”

“I have not,” Ron snapped, It’s just–”

“It’s what?” Fred said, his mouth widening. “Is our poor baby brother scared of playing quidditch with the big boys?” 

Ron’s ears began to turn a deep, scarlet red. 

“Oh lay off,” Harry snapped. “I doubt you were much better at your first practice.”

Fred cocked his head, before shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose you aren’t wrong about that. Anyway, you two better get a move on. You’re late.” Fred whistled cheerfully as he left through the door out to the field, leaving the two of them alone inside. Harry turned back to his friend and found that the rest of his face had turned a bright shade of pink. 

“You’ll be fine, yeah?” Harry said, his voice light as he threw on his quidditch robes. “It’s just practice, and you know most of us well anyway.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron said under his breath, as he donned his own robes. “I guess I am a little nervous.”

“You’ll do great, don’t worry about it.” 

Ron made a small noise and headed for the door without another word, Harry following after him. The rest of the team was already outside. 

“You do look a little peaky,” George said when he saw them approaching. He placed his hand on his chin. “Do cheer up, you’re a prefect, aren’t you?”

Ron’s hands balled into fists. The look on the twin’s faces were like sharks scenting blood.

“You’re right, George,” Fred said, tapping his chin. “Shouldn’t our brother be more confident now that he’s a perfect _ prefect_? Percy always was.” With that, the two of them started laughing loudly. 

“Enough,” Angelina snapped from next to them, and turned her gaze toward Ron. “Just ignore them, Weasley. Now, there are a few things I’d like to discuss since we have a new face with us today.”

“More than one of them, actually,” George said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. Harry’s eyes followed behind him, and found to his displeasure the familiar shock of white-blond hair that could belong to only one person in their school. Malfoy was surrounded by his usual posse.

“What’s he doing here?” Harry asked irritably, his eyes still on the stands.

“I can’t technically kick them out without any reason,” Angelina said grimly. “Just ignore them and it’ll be fine. I’d like to start with some basic exercises, just to get a feel for how the team works together now. Let’s get going.” 

They mounted their brooms and lifted high into the sky. It was the first time in months Harry found himself in the air, and for a moment, he forgot about the rest of his team, soaking in the sun's rays. 

“Looking a little peaky there, Weasley!” A voice called from below, and Harry turned his gaze downwards toward the stands. Malfoy was standing on a bench, hands cupped over his mouth. 

“Ignore him,” Harry said determinedly, moving his attention toward his friend. “He’s just here to be a nuisance.” 

“I know that,” Ron said tightly, hovering in the air across from him. “I know that, it’s just–” His voice broke off as laughter echoed in the stands below them. 

“I don’t need to see you play to know you’re nothing but a charity case,” Malfoy shouted. “Must be nice, having two of your brothers to help get you on the team!”

“Must be nice having your father pay your way onto the team,” Harry snapped back, glaring down at the boy. “That was a whole lot of money for your sorry seeker skills. How many matches have you won again?”

Malfoy’s cheeks turned pink as snickering erupted behind him. Malfoy turned his eyes toward him, hands tightened into fists. 

“Shut up, Potter!”

“Alright, alright, you’ve had your fun,” Angelina called out, her voice full of irritation. “Now be quiet or get the hell out. I’m not above going to our heads of houses.” 

Malfoy dropped off the bench with a huff, the group of Slytherins following him soon after down the stairs. Once they were gone, the tension between the team seemed to lighten. 

“Right, then,” Angelina said firmly. “Now that they’re gone, lets start off with passing the quaffle around, see how we do catching it. Katie, you first…”

Despite the Slytherin’s leaving, it didn’t help matters. Ron seemed to get only worse as the time passed, from catching the quaffle occasionally to missing completely. Angelina decided to switch to a quick game after awhile of this, though the atmosphere between the team only grew more miserable. Practice ended with Katie Bell being marched off to the Hospital wing with Fred and George holding her up. Since they were down three members, Angelina called the practice over. As they walked back to the changing rooms, Ron was completely silent. 

“Look,” Harry said, as they reached the door. “It was only your first practice. It’ll get better.”

“Don’t bother,” Ron said bleakly. “Look, you go ahead, alright?”

“Er–” Harry said as he changed back into his normal robes. “Are you sure? Lunch is nearly over.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, pulling off his quidditch robes. “I don’t feel much like eating.” 

“Okay,” Harry said slowly, and made for the door that went up to the castle. “We still working on that essay later today?”

“Yeah, yeah...” Ron said dourly, his voice trailing off. 

Harry reluctantly left his friend behind, out into the crisp open air. Outside, Angelina was halfway up the path. She turned at the sound of the door swinging shut, and slowed to a stop. Harry quickly caught up to her.

“I know he’s your friend, Harry, but he played terribly today,” she said bluntly. Harry winced.

“He was just nervous,” he said weakly. “He can play much better.”

“I know that,” Angelina said. “Tryouts proved that. Now I don’t know why he was having so much more trouble today, but he needs to get whatever is making him freeze up under control, okay?”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Harry said. “It’s just as his first practice and all, and with Malfoy…”

“Speaking of Malfoy,” Angelina said, though there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I know you two have beef with one another, but you need to focus on the snitch, not on what some snooty little blond brat is shouting at you, yeah? It seems like your issues with each other only escalate every year.” 

“Well you wouldn’t be wrong about that,” Harry said under his breath. Angelina sent him a small smile.

“Look Harry,” she said quietly. “I know people have been giving you a tough time since returning this week.”

Harry stopped for a split second, before continuing up the path. “It’s okay,” he shrugged.

“It’s not okay,” Angelina said softly. “It’s really unfair the way people are treating you right now. I’d like to think we’ve gotten to know each other enough over the many hours Oliver tortured us in the early morning’s together.” Her lips quirked. “We may not be close, but I know you aren’t lying. I know you didn’t hurt Cedric Diggory.”

Harry stopped fully this time, staring open-mouthed toward her. “You believe me?”

“Yeah I do,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you that. Not everyone believes that rubbish the Prophet is spouting.”

Sighing, Harry began walking again. “It certainly doesn’t feel that way sometimes,” he said, looking down at his feet. “But thanks.”

A hand on his shoulder had Harry jolting back a step. He looked up to find Angelina staring kindly at him. 

“It’s going to be okay,” she said. “People will come to their senses eventually.”

Harry could only manage a small smile toward her, but his dread only grew. It wasn’t going to get better, not now, not when Voldemort was out there. 

Harry grabbed a sandwich for lunch, not bothering to stick around. He didn’t feel much for socializing, or having people stare at him at the very least. As he popped the last of it into his mouth, he looked down at his hand. The wound was nearly gone, and the letters completely illegible. Soon it would be gone as though it had never existed, and the proof that Umbridge had done anything disappearing with it. The thought bothered him. 

When he reached the common room, he found it nearly empty but for a few. Hermione was dozing in one of the oversized chairs near the fireplace, scraps of parchment littering around her and several textbooks in her lap. Harry plopped down in the chair next to her and she awoke moments later, nearly sending her pile of things sprawling on the floor.

“Merlin’s pants,” she swore, scrubbing at her temples with one hand, and the other holding onto her things. “When did you get in?”

“A few minutes ago,” Harry said with a small laugh. “What have you been up to?”

“A few things,” Hermione said evasively. She peered around the common room. “Is Ron with you?”

“No he’s not,” Harry said with a sigh. 

Hermione winced. “Did practice go badly?” 

“Well, it certainly didn’t go well,” Harry said. “I don’t know where Ron is right now, he told me to go ahead.”

“And you left him there?” Hermione asked, arching a brow. It was Harry’s turn to wince.

“Look, he really wanted to be left alone, so I did,” Harry said defensively. “He’ll turn up soon enough. He just needed some time away from all of us.”

“Alright, alright,” Hermione said, holding a hand up. “Since you’re here, how about some homework?”

Harry groaned, slumping into his seat. “Oh come on, Hermione.”

“What?” she said. “I know you still have several essays to finish. What else are you going to use this time for?”

“Fine,” Harry said, and got to his feet to head for the stairs. “I’ll go get my things.” 

When he returned, Hermione was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment, her eyes moving rapidly from one page of her textbook to the next. He settled back down into the seat next to her, stretching his legs out toward the dying fire. Then he buckled down and got to work. 

An hour or so later, Ron appeared through the portrait entrance, his feet scraping against the floor.

“Oh, hey Ron,” Harry said, putting down his quill. 

“Hey Harry,” Ron answered quickly, drawing close. 

“Up for some essays?” Harry said, cracking a smile. Ron sent him a small, relieved one back.

“I’ll be right down,” he said, and continued up the stairs, disappearing out of sight. 

Hermione looked up. “He looked a touch bit upset,” she said carefully. 

Harry sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. “I vote we don’t talk about it.”

“Agreed,” she said quickly. 

A few minutes later, Ron returned with his bookbag, sagging into the chair across from them. “Let’s do this,” he said determinedly. 

The next few hours had them raggedly stooped over their work, desperate to finish so they could have Sunday off. Harry was six inches into an essay on tealeaf interpretations when Hermione suddenly scrambled to her feet, her parchment, textbooks and quill toppling onto her chair. 

“Blimey, Hermione,” Ron said indignantly. “What was that?”

“I have it,” Hermione said triumphantly. “Our word alone may not be enough, but what if we have proof?”

Harry rubbed his jaw. “Proof of what?”

“Of Professor Umbridge’s misuse of power,” Hermione shot at him. “All we need to do is to find some way of proving this is all true. Fred and George said mail is being rewritten by some type of automated quill, right? So we just need to find that quill, it would be proof enough.”

“Oh, of course,” Harry said, his voice bland. “All we have to do is steal into her office without being caught.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed with color. “Well I’m sorry, but I don’t exactly see either of you coming up with a solution.”

“You want us to break into her office,” Ron said slowly. “_You_?”  
Her face reddened further, her shoulders stiffening. “She’s hurting students, Ron. She hurt Harry. This isn’t for some silly prank, this is serious. She can’t be allowed to stay because whatever we think is bad now, it’ll only get worse.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Harry asked skeptically. “I doubt _ alohomora _would be enough to get us in.”

“Well...I don’t know about that yet,” Hermione admitted, biting her lip. “But there has to be a way in without her knowing.” 

“Who says the quill is in her office in the first place?” Ron said and he crossed his arms. “Look, Hermione, I don’t think either of us is disagreeing with you, but getting that quill won’t be easy.” 

“I know that,” Hermione snapped, and began pacing the small space between the chairs and the fireplace. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but what choice do we have?”

“We stay on the low like you said before,” Harry said. “Keep out of trouble.”

Hermione let out a short, breathless laugh. “Merlin, do you hear us? Usually I’d be the one telling you that.”

Harry’s lips quirked. “You can tell the danger is high when you’re telling us to break the rules.”

“Planning to break into Umbridge’s office is probably the nastiest thing you’ve done, Hermione,” Ron said with a huff of laughter. 

The tense atmosphere seemed to deflate around them. Hermione dragged her feet over to her chair, pulling her textbooks back into her lap with a heavy sigh. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Hermione confessed. “All our other professors, even the _death eater _ never openly hurt us. It wouldn’t happen because they would have been kicked out, right? But Professor Dumbledore no longer has the pull to do that, especially not with Umbridge. It’s on us to get the word out somehow. It’s the only way.”

Harry leaned back in his seat. “I’ve been thinking about that. Let’s say we did get the word out. Then the argument in opposing her would be based entirely on our word. That may be enough for families to act, but the Ministry? I was in opposition during my trial this summer, and I barely managed to keep my wand, let alone go back to Hogwarts. They didn’t care about the truth, not really. It was only with Mrs. Figg testifying that convinced some of them, and even then most of them voted one way or another because of how others around them voted, not whether or not they personally believed me.”

“So you think even if we got the word out, it wouldn’t make a difference?” Hermione said. Her voice took on an edge. “So there’s nothing we can do to stop her then?”

“I don’t mean that,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead. “I just think it’s going to be difficult getting anyone to believe us, let alone someone with enough power to help us.”

Hermione slumped further into her seat. “It’s terrifying, isn’t it? I hadn’t thought about it before this year, but with magic someone can cover up just about anything. Justice is true only when the judges presiding over the crime are guilted into doing the right thing. How many death eaters bribed their way out of trouble in the last war?”

“No one talks about this when they introduce us to this world, huh?” Harry said with a sharp laugh. He was starting to feel as bitter as she sounded. 

Ron looked between them apprehensively. “Would you have chosen differently if you had known? Right now, if you could change the past and stay in the muggle world as a child, would you do it?” 

They looked at one another, before bursting into laughter. 

“How could I have chosen differently?” Hermione said. “It’s _ magic_.”

“It let me escape from the Dursleys,” Harry said with a shrug. “But how could I walk away from magic? I couldn’t.”

“And now you’re both stuck here,” Ron said, leaning back in his seat. He let out a short laugh. 

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Hermione said, lips twitching. 

“I agree with you, Hermione,” Harry said, turning back to her. “I think we have to do something, but I don’t know what that would be.”

“We need to start off with something small then,” Hermione said. “If we don’t go looking for the quill just yet.”

“Small, huh?” Ron said slowly. “This is all banking on the idea that the quill and our mail is going to her office before being resent back out. So let’s prove that first.“

Hermione blinked, before springing to her feet. “You’re right,” she said, her eyes bright. “We need to find out where our mail is being taken.”

“You know,” Harry said, “It wouldn’t make much sense for it to be going to her office anyway. Wouldn’t it be obvious with owls flying in and out of the window?”

Hermione made a small noise. “You forget that the windows we see outside don’t always match up on what’s inside. That’s why no one can sneak in through the different house’s windows.” 

“Oh right,” Harry said a bit sheepishly. His eyes flicked toward hers. “So how would we even track where the owls are going if we can’t tell which windows lead where?”

“One of us needs to go speak with her while the other gives Hedwig a letter.” Hermione said with a flicker of a smile. 

Ron looked horrified. “You don’t mean we have to go speak with her, do you? Alone, in her office?”

“I’ll be doing that part,” Hermione said staunchly. “I can give her my concerns on her teaching material.”

“I can watch her outside,” Harry said. “I mean, if I’m the one sending the letter, it only makes sense.”

“I suppose the letter can be addressed to me,” Ron said. “Tomorrow then, after lunch?”

“It’ll work. Tomorrow I’ll go visit Umbridge in her office to see if Hedwig comes by. Harry, you watch Hedwig for as long as possible outside to see where she goes. Ron, we’ll have you be on the opposite side of the castle.” Hermione took a deep breath. “We’ll find out exactly what she’s doing with those letters.”

* * *

Despite Hermione’s confidence that it would work, by the next day when Harry headed to the owlery alone, a letter held tightly in his grasp, apprehension outweighed his own conviction in the plan. The more he thought about it, the less the whole idea seemed like it would work. Owls rerouting toward her office would make little sense, especially with the amount of time she spent giving out detentions. If she was having all their mail delivered to her office first, wouldn’t someone have seen it by now?

Still, it wasn’t as though he had a better plan, or a plan at all, so with weary steps, Harry made it into the owlery. The rustling of feathers had Harry moving his eyes along the walls, trying to find his own owl. Finally, a little ways above his head, he found the familiar snow white feathers of Hedwig.

“Hey girl,” Harry said coaxingly. “Ready to deliver a message? It’s for Ron.”

She opened one, beady eye, before fluttering her wings a few times. She hopped down onto a perch near him, and Harry carefully handed the letter over. With a mighty flap of her wings, the owl lifted off through a window, Harry sprinting through the doors to follow after her. 

With Hermione at Umbridge’s office on one side of the school and Ron on the other, it would be easy to tell when Hedwig was effected by the ward. 

Harry watched Hedwig fly through the bright sky for as long as he could before his owl got too far away for him to see. With his part of the plan done, he set off for where he knew Ron was waiting. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to make his way back to the unused classroom Ron was using, but when he arrived, the scene he found wasn’t one he was expecting.

Ron shrugged almost helplessly, Hedwig perched on a table in front of him.

“She just showed up here, almost five minutes ago,” he said, looking between the two. “That wouldn’t be enough time to change anything in the letter, would it?”

“I doubt it,” Harry said, hurrying through the door. “Here, let me see it.”

Ron held out the letter and he rushed to take it, ripping through the envelope roughly with his fingers. He held it up to the light, scanning the words they had carefully written only hours before.

“The letter looked unopened,” Ron said, as he was reading. “I suppose that would have to be true, but it’s a bit impressive, isn’t it?”

Harry dropped the letter abruptly, as though it had bitten him, face turning pale.

“It’s been changed,” he said shortly. “I no longer say anything about the quill or anything about how I dislike her.”

Ron fumbled for the letter, his eyes scanning back and forth across the page. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron said, looking back up toward Harry. “I don’t understand. How could this have been changed so quickly?”

Harry fell into one of the dusty chairs, fingernails tapping against the wood. “I don’t think it’s an automated quill.”

Ron blinked at him. “Then what else could it be? How could she have changed what was in a message without opening it?”

“How would I know?” Harry said roughly, before rubbing his forehead. “This is way beyond me.”

“I can agree with you on that,” Ron muttered and slumped into his own seat. “Merlin, she’s got to be a lot smarter than she seems, right? Whatever this is, it must be very advanced magic.”

Footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door, and they tensed. The door swung open, Harry reaching slowly for his wand, but he relaxed a moment later.

“Hedwig never–” Hermione stopped upon seeing the snowy owl standing on the desk. “Oh.”

“It’s not an automated quill, that’s for sure,” Harry said in lieu of a greeting. “She must have flown from the owlery straight here.”

Hermione stepped forward, letting the door snap shut behind her. “What about the letter then?”

Ron held out the letter for her to take. “It’s been changed the same way Fred and George’s letter was.”

“But how is this possible?” Hermione cried, smacking the letter back down on the desk. “It must be some kind of ward, but I’ve never heard of anything like this. It would have to be a very advanced form of one, but something like this would definitely be well known by now.”

“So what?” Ron said, “Umbridge has some kind of secret ward that no one else knows about? I don’t exactly look at her and think ‘warding expert’.”

Hermione picked up the letter again, more carefully this time. “Well, it’s not as though warding is my main topic of interest, so it’s not like I know everything. Perhaps this type of ward does exist and is regularly used, I just haven’t come across it.”

Harry stood abruptly. “I’m going to go for a walk,” he said. He offered his arm to Hedwig and opened a window, where she took off up into the sky. “Need some time away from this. It just feels–hopeless, doesn’t it?”

“I understand how you feel,” Hermione said, her voice stilted. “I don’t understand how she did this. I suppose I’ll go look in the library to see if any book mentions similar forms of warding.”

Ron looked between the two of them before sighing. “I suppose I’ll go finish that last essay I have.”

“See you both later,” Harry said, and eagerly left through the door, leaving his friends behind him. 

Though it didn’t match his mood, it was a bright and sunny Sunday, with clear blue skies as far as he could see. He was in an odd mood, something he wished he could have fixed with flying, but the quidditch pitch was no doubt already booked. He ended up wandering the grounds, trying to forget their failure that day and attempting to calm down. It wasn’t as relaxing as he’d hoped; too often his mind would stray to thoughts of Voldemort, of the fear and repulsion in some of the eyes of his fellow students, of the thrill Umbridge felt watching Harry write in his own blood. 

He eventually went back inside once it went dark, heading for Gryffindor tower. With hours between it, he felt a bit guilty leaving as he had. The portrait creaked open and Harry stepped through, finding Hermione and Ron sitting by the fire. Ron was clutching a letter, white-knuckled as he gripped its sides tightly. When they caught notice of him, Ron’s features twisted.

“Harry, you’re not going to believe what this git wrote to me,” Ron said through gritted teeth. “I can’t believe I’m related to him…”

Harry reached for the letter, scanning through it quickly. Blood roared in his ears as he picked up phrases such as, ‘afraid to sever ties with Potter’, ‘Dumbledore’s regime at Hogwarts’, ‘petty criminals’. He felt anger clamor to life, though more than that, he felt hurt, as though Percy’s words had cut him with a knife. Sure, the two of them weren’t close, but Percy had known Harry for years. He had stayed with them summer after summer, yet the man still believed the junk the Prophet said about him. His hands clenched into fists as he jerked the letter back to Ron. Both Ron and Hermione looked equally furious.

“I can’t believe he actually thinks that rubbish is true,” Ron spat, then snorted moments after. “No wait, I can. That bloody tosser has always wanted to work for the Ministry. Work for the purebloods who call us blood traitors and ‘muggle lovers’.” He shook his head violently and sent the letter spinning into the fire. 

“Well,” Harry said after a moment, watching the letter burn up in the flames, “It’s his choice if he wants to ignore the threat that’s coming. It’s probably easier to live with.”

“That’s no excuse,” Ron said hotly. “He’s known you for years! Working for the ministry has gone to his head.”

“It’s like everyone else,” Harry said. “It’s easier to pretend Voldemort isn’t back, so I must be a liar, right? I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Er–goodnight,” Ron said, staring after him.

“Goodnight,” Hermione echoed. 

Harry trudged up the stairs, slipping into his pajamas and brushing his teeth without letting himself think further about the letter. There were people who believed him, people like the order, like Angelina or Neville, or that strange girl on the train. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it, not really, and as he lied awake in bed that night, he thought about how many other people were like Percy out there, who might have once thought well enough of him, but now saw him as unstable, a liar.

A murderer. 


	7. Chapter 7

When the owls arrived halfway through breakfast Monday morning, it took only seconds before the Great Hall erupted into whispers. Hermione stared blankly at her own copy of the _ Daily Prophet_, her lips parted in shock. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, tilting his head to try to get a better look. “What’s going on?”

Hermione shook her head, pushing the paper into his hands. “Have a look.”

Ron leaned over his shoulder as Harry straightened the newspaper out enough so they could read it. On the front page in bold print read, ‘Umbridge for High Inquisitor’, with a moving image of Umbridge turning toward the camera, eyes wrinkling as she smiled. He nearly dropped the paper. 

“What the bloody hell is a high inquisitor?” Ron demanded, pulling the paper closer to him. “‘The ministry seeks educational reform’?”

He turned the page and the two of them read silently until Harry abruptly landed his fists on the table. 

“How can she do this?” Harry said darkly. “How can Dumbledore let this happen?” 

“You know why,” Hermione said, rubbing at her temples. “I’m honestly surprised it took this long for her to come up with something like this.”

“It’s nonsense, that’s what it is,” Ron scowled. “So now not only do we have to deal with her in her own class, but other professor’s classes as well? McGonagall isn’t going to take this well.”

“None of them are going to take it well,” Hermione said, tapping her fingers on the newspaper. “At least not everyone’s in favor of it. Look here. Two Wizengamot members resigned.” 

“What good would that do?” Harry snapped, jabbing his finger toward Umbridge’s photo. “All they’ve done is give more votes to the people causing this in the first place.”

Ron sighed. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. We’re stuck with her.” 

Harry’s eyes moved up to where the real Umbridge was sitting, her mouth fixed with a permanent smugness. She looked as though she had won the world. What little appetite he had faded entirely. He put down his spoon, pushing his bowl away. 

“I’m going to head to class,” Harry muttered, picking up his bag as he slid off the bench.

“We’ll meet you in class then,” Hermione said, staring worriedly toward him. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

Harry nearly laughed as he began walking toward the door. “Now when would I do something like that?”

As the day stretched on, however, Umbridge was nowhere to be seen. Each class felt too slow, like molasses dripping off a spoon. There was an impatient energy simmering under his skin, as though he were only waiting until a disaster hit. 

After lunch had finished and Hermione hurried off to her own class, both he and Ron lingered as long as they could in the Great Hall before being forced to head for Divination. Umbridge was there at last, sitting in the corner of the room, wearing that sugary sweet smile of hers. Harry stopped midstep, before walking straight toward his and Ron’s usual seat without looking at her further. 

“Strange choice, picking Divination of all things,” Ron whispered under his breath once they had seated. 

“Perhaps she thinks Trelawney would be an easy target,” Harry said cooly. He looked down at his hands which were clenched so tightly he knew they would leave marks later. He took a deep breath, trying to relax. “She’d be right though.” 

Class started without too much of a fuss, though there was an obvious strain to their Divination professor’s voice. 

“It’s your turn to come up with a dream,” Ron said, though neither of them were really paying attention. Their eyes instead were glued onto Umbridge, who was slowly following Trelawney around the room. 

Harry thought about the dreams he had in the past few days and nearly gagged. There was nothing about his them he could share. 

“Just make something up, it’s not like she’ll notice,” Ron said impatiently. “Like you dreamed of being attacked by spiders, or that you played quidditch.”

“Let’s go with that,” Harry answered quickly. “What do you think she’s writing down?”

“What–Umbridge?” Ron said, looking down as he scribbled into his dream oracle. “Who knows. When did you have this dream?”

“My fake dream you came up with?” Harry said with a snort. “How about last night.”

“Last...night…” Ron muttered as he wrote it down. 

Harry watched as the two professors came closer to their own table. That sickly-sweet smile had begun to fade and so had her kind words. Now the questions Umbridge asked Trelawney were becoming more and more pointed. 

“This is hard to watch,” Harry said a few minutes later, though his eyes were still firmly set on them. 

“I almost feel bad for her,” Ron agreed, having abandoned his own diary entirely in favor of watching Umbridge’s interrogation. Most of the class had done the same thing, the sounds of scribbling ink having nearly disappeared. 

“It’s not as though I like the crazy old bat, but at least she’s, you know…”

“Not out to kill you?” Ron suggested, and Harry shot him a look. “Well alright, I know what you mean. She’s harmless and the girls love her I suppose.”

“Yeah that’s what matters,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “At least girls love her.” 

Ron chortled under his breath until Trelawney turned toward them, her eyes shining. “And what have the two of you done so far this class? Give your dream diary here,” she said in a wobbling wreck of a voice. 

Ron wilted in his seat as he handed the meager pages of parchment over. Within moments, Harry’s death had been confirmed for the first time that year. Ron caught his eye halfway through her wailful speech, his grin widening when Harry had to say through gritted teeth, “Yes Professor Trelawney, I’ll be sure not to walk under moonlight.”

When they finally managed to escape forty minutes later, it was from painful incompetency into deliberate mediocrity. Umbridge opened class with her usual set of instructions that could be summarized into three rules; sit down, read quietly, and not ask any questions. Harry kept his mouth shut throughout the entirety of it, staying silent through the worst of her lectures, the reminder of his last detention still burning on the back of his hand.

After the last week, Harry was certain that the ‘ministry approved’ textbook they had been assigned was complete rubbish. Every entry had been watered down so that those reading it still had no idea how to use the spells written inside properly. It angered him more than he would like to admit. Defense Against the Dark Arts was not only his favorite class, but also the one he found most useful. He needed to know how to defend himself, but it wasn’t just him that he worried about. Voldemort would start a new war more bloody than the last and being a student of Hogwarts wouldn’t exempt anyone from being affected by it. 

It was a tense D.A.D.A lesson from which Harry escaped quickly from. He couldn’t stand it–couldn’t stand her and her lies. His thoughts began to move away from her, however, once he was back in the near empty common room. Not many had returned from classes yet and he laid alone in a chair by the fire, staring into the flames. If he wasn’t going to learn anything from Umbridge’s class, then he would have to learn in a different way–and the book Sirius had given him over the summer was still carefully tucked away in his truck. There were spells contained in that book he had wanted to learn but hadn’t been able to without magic, but that was no longer an issue. 

Later that night, Harry snuck down to the kitchens alone. The house-elves were still hard at work scrubbing dinnerware and later meal prep. He was momentarily distracted by all the commotion until Dobby appeared, wearing oversized socks and several hats stacked on top of one another. Harry blinked rapidly as he stared at the house-elf before a small laugh escaped his lips. There was only one person that could be giving Dobby clothes. 

“Harry Potter sir!” Dobby cried out, bouncing on his toes. “It is such a pleasure to see you again, sir!” 

“Er–Hi Dobby,” Harry said, tearing his eyes away from the misshapen hats. “I actually came down here to ask you something.”

Dobby’s eyes went wide. “Harry Potter came down to the kitchens to see _ Dobby_, sir?”

“Yeah I did,” Harry said uncomfortably. “You wouldn’t happen to know a place in Hogwarts where I could practice spellwork, do you? I figured you would know the castle better than anyone else. It would have to be a secret as I can’t have Umbridge find out.”

Dobby’s forehead wrinkled as the elf pondered the question. “Dobby might have a place,” he said slowly. “The elves call it the ‘Come and Go Room’. A magical room that can become whatever sir might need.”

It sounded strangely familiar, though Harry didn’t understand where he might have heard of it. 

“This place is large enough for spellwork?” Harry asked unsurely. 

The elf’s ears wagged as he nodded rapidly. “I would expect so, sir.”

“Could you take me there?” Harry said eagerly, before scratching at the back of his neck, sheepish. “That is, if you aren’t already doing something else.”

“It is no problem, sir. Dobby can take Harry Potter to the ‘Come and Go Room’,” Dobby said, his eyes sparkling. “If you would just follow Dobby...”

There was no reason why he should have been creeping around the castle late at night following a house elf. There were plenty of reasons why he should have simply waited until the weekend when getting caught wandering the hallways wouldn’t land him in detention–but he was so sick of being _ useless_. 

Though it took them nearly twenty minutes and a few close calls with prefects on their rounds, they finally made it to the seventh floor where they stopped along a long stretch of bare wall. 

“Here we are, sir,” Dobby said merrily. Harry stared at the elf blankly. 

“Er–Dobby,” Harry said, head twisting from one side to the other. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at, exactly.”

Dobby’s eyes sparkled as he hopped from one foot to the other. “It’s a magic room, sir. To enter the Come and Go Room, Harry Potter must pace three times exactly in front of this wall while thinking of your wish, and the door will appear.”

There was something fascinating about that statement Harry couldn’t tear his thoughts away from. It was like some sort of puzzle Harry remembered seeing on the few tv shows he had sneaked watching. 

“That’s brilliant!” Harry told the elf, a smile stretching across his face. “Thank you so much, Dobby.” 

“Dobby is glad he could help Harry Potter,” Dobby exclaimed joyfully. “Dobby will leave you to it, sir.” The elf disappeared with a crack, leaving Harry alone in the hallway. For a moment Harry stood still, staring at the wall as he thought about what he would wish for. Then he began walking. 

The moment he finished his third loop, a large metal door emerged silently from the empty wall, leaving him opened-mouthed and frozen to the spot. He remembered how it had been entering Grimmauld for the first time, the homes next to it shaking and rumbling as the house between them took form. This was different. This was silent as a mouse, immaculate, _ secret_. 

Harry took an unsteady stride toward the door as he shoved a hand out to clasp the handle. It opened without a sound, and Harry stepped through the gate, finding himself in a large dueling hall. The gate shut behind him as he turned around the room, finding dueling mannequins, bookshelves filled with books, and various other supplies. It was more than he could have ever imagined wanting. Candles flickered to life as he moved toward the center, bright and warm, and the sky opened up to show stars shining brilliantly above him. It was the same charm that was in the Great Hall, something he hadn’t seen outside of it. 

It was incredible. Whoever had created such a space had to have been an impossibly talented witch or wizard. He had never heard of anything like it before. 

After several more minutes of looking around, Harry finally dug into his bag, rummaging through it until he found the book Sirius had given him, his notes he’d taken on it, and lastly, his wand.

He warmed up with simple spells he had known for years. _ Expelliarmus, tarantallegra, bombarda_.

It quickly became known to him how out of practice he was–and how quickly it all fell back into place. It was with some despair that Harry finally acknowledged how much he was truly remembering from those dreams, those hours of casting spell after spell on someone to loosen their tongue. That poisonous ichor oozing into his own reality. Harry attempted to ignore the thought by continuing to cast mindlessly.

When he had enough of those, he picked up the book he’d left a little ways away on the floor with his bag and flipped through it, looking between each page and his notes. There were many spells he had taken interest in during his time reading throughout the summer, but there were a few that stood out. One was a spell to show an opponent’s greatest fears, another a spell to create an ear-splitting shriek of noise for escaping or a distraction, and finally the one he was most curious about, _ Ignis Contego, _a shield made from flame. There were others like a spell that could shatter bones or magic to make the ground slick, but he was less interested in those for the moment. 

He started with _protego_, though he stopped after a few minutes due to how uninteresting it was without a partner. _Expulso _came next, where he spent some time sending the endless supply of mannequins the room gave him crashing into the walls. 

_ Exterreo _was a spell he was intensely curious about. Voldemort had used it once to drag information from a man’s lips–after he had finished screaming of course. It didn’t cause physical pain, but instead manifested someone’s greatest fears, much like a boggart would. It was a nightmare only the victim could see, though it wore off on its own after a few hours. That much time, however, was more than enough time to run if Harry used it as a distraction. He couldn’t practice it without a living target, though, and it wasn’t a spell he would ever use on his friends, so Harry had to find something else to try. 

_ Ignis contego _was a fascinating find. Many of the shielding spells Harry had learned so far all used some form of _ protego_, but this was different, and he was curious to find out how exactly it worked. 

It was harder than he thought it would be. After hours of effort, all he had to show for it was a few, tiny spurts of yellow flame. He tried pushing more of his magic into the spell, as much as he thought was safe, but all it did was create shapeless, uncontrollable flames. He had long since become frustrated. 

“What kind of spellbook is this,” Harry muttered out loud after several more failed attempts, dousing his latest fire with _ aguamenti_. The spells contained within the book were useful, but the more pages he flipped through, the more he realized they all had a certain quality to them that had Harry wondering exactly why his godfather had given it to him. While it was filled entirely with offensive and defensive magic, many of the spells hit harder and stronger than anything he had seen before in class. All the spells inside were made for live combat, not just practice for the real thing. He knew learning how to use them would be difficult, but he hadn’t expected to be casting for hours without any progress. 

“_ Ignis contego!” _ Harry shouted again as he pointed his wand out in front of him. A tiny wisp of fire flattened against the floor, and Harry stomped on it until it went out.

He didn’t understand what he was doing wrong. Picking up the book again, Harry flipped through the pages until he found the section on the fire shield.

_ ‘Though this is a shield, it is an offensive one, capable of several uses. This is, firstly, an elemental spell using fire. As such, it is an unusually dangerous defensive–’ _

Harry snapped the book shut, rubbing at his temples. He was beginning to feel exhausted. A magic core was like a muscle, and he hadn’t used it properly in months. He tipped his head back down and found the page, reading a little further. He had to treat it as a fire spell, not just as a shield spell. It wasn’t just pumping as much magic as he could into the spell, but _ controlling _ it. 

Harry stood up, pointing his wand toward the middle of the room. Imagining a flame, gleaming brightly as it flickered in the dark, Harry bellowed, _ “Ignis contego!” _

Fire burst from his wand; high and snarling and a horrible, bluish yellow, like a day old bruise. He dropped the spell hastily, but the fire only grew larger, crackling as it moved across the floor. Harry quickly cast _ aguamenti_, slumping against the floor in relief when the fire went out before it reached anything important.

“Why am I still trying to cast this?” Harry said miserably while sitting there on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. “This spell isn’t even all that useful.” 

But Harry found himself unable to let it go. He spent another half hour on it before finally calling it quits, stomping out through the door with only his dissatisfaction growing stronger. 

He had to sneak inside the common room and then into the dorm, where he flung off his robes and rolled into bed, curling up under the covers. He kicked them off moments later, too hot after hours of spellcasting, especially fire at that. He tried to fall asleep but his mind was still filled with his own failures. He couldn’t let it go–if he couldn’t get a simple shield spell to work, how could he expect to survive Voldemort? He had promised himself not to give up, but each grueling day only made it harder to remember. 

He rolled over, toying with the locket’s chain as it slid over his neck. Sometimes he forgot it was there, but it felt like he had been wearing it forever. Fear spiked for a moment. He couldn’t forget about it, he needed it…

Harry fell into a deep sleep. 

The next day, Umbridge was in their Transfiguration class, the two professors trading scathing remarks until class was over, though Harry barely noticed. He was still dead tired from his late night escape the day before. Still, after dinner was over and he had done an hour of homework, he made up an excuse and found himself pacing outside the portrait-less wall on the seventh floor.

He spent hours casting in failure again, something that had him marching back to Gryffindor tower in a rage. He couldn’t understand what he was doing wrong, but the more failed attempts he had, the more he felt he _ had _ to figure it out. It had stopped being about the spell but his failure to cast it. 

Wednesday night had Harry stuck in the Astronomy tower during the time he would have been practicing. He could barely pay attention; his mind repeating _ Ignis contego _over and over, his fingers twitching in the casting motion for it. He needed to have just the right amount of magic, large enough to be a shield, but small enough to be controlled. An uncontrollable flame wasn’t something he wanted, it had to be tamed. 

Hermione shot him dark looks throughout the night, though Harry did his best to ignore her. In his attempts to learn the spell, he had spent barely any time with his friends outside of class. She had a right to feel peeved with him, but he couldn’t keep away from the seventh floor, nor did he feel like sharing it with them quite yet. 

As they walked back to the common room, Harry found himself quickly trapped between his friends, Hermione’s fingers wrapped firmly around his arm.

“Merlin, you don’t need to hold on so tight,” Harry said, trying to shake her off. “I’m not going anywhere...” 

“You’ve been going somewhere every night this week,” Hermione snapped. “Running off with some frankly terrible excuses before we can talk to you. Ron and I have something to talk to you about.” 

Harry looked between the two of them as Ron held his hands up hastily. “It’s not my idea but I think she's right,” Ron said, eyes darting away from him.

“Thanks for the support, Ron,” Hermione said dryly. “Let’s talk about it in the common room when we get back.”

But when they arrived at the common room, Hermione became distracted when she found a second year spraying blood from his nose, a circle of their snickering housemates surrounding him. Within seconds Fred and George stuffed something in the boy’s mouth and took off, Hermione shouting after them. Harry used that moment to slip up to the dorms, feeling as though whatever the both of them could agree on, it wasn’t something he would like very much.

Over the next two nights, Harry escaped to the seventh floor straight after dinner, going as far as to bring his textbooks to do homework there. Hermione became more and more determined, Ron’s attempts to wheedle him into listening becoming much more blatant. 

It was Friday night when he finally succeeded. It took him by surprise; he’d almost given up that night as it was nearing one o’clock in the morning. The fire burst from his wand and created a solid, hissing wall in front of him. Despite it licking the floor, nothing burned. Harry felt simple, unadulterated joy, breaking the spell moments later and flopping onto the floor, whooping in delight. It took him a few more tries, but he cast it successfully once more before he had to head back to the dorms, where he fell into bed grinning ear to ear.

The next morning he woke later than he usually would due to his studies, skipping breakfast to make it just in time for quidditch practice. He was the last to arrive, with Angelina, Katie, and Alicia already on the field. Fred and George were leaving through the door just as he entered into the changing room, Ron pacing between lockers in what was likely an attempt to stall for time. 

“Finally,” Ron said with some relief as he caught sight of Harry. 

“Slept in late,” Harry said as he slipped into his quidditch robes. “Sorry.” He hadn’t thought at all about quidditch that week, and with a pang, Harry realized he hadn’t tried to help Ron either. He had been so focused on learning that single spell, he had forgotten everything else. 

They hurried through the door once he had finished changing onto the field, where practice started shortly after. Though it started out better than it had previously, it was a downhill fall until it was cut mercifully to an end. No one had to go to the hospital wing, but by the end of it Ron looked as though he wished he had. 

“That was horrible,” Ron mumbled as they headed up the rocky path. “I’m just plain awful, aren’t I?”

Harry smothered a groan, bumping his friend’s shoulder. “You’re just nervous, but I’ve seen you play before when you aren’t. You’re good Ron, you just have to find that mindset again.”

“Yeah,” Ron echoed miserably before his expression soured. “Harry, you have to stop hiding from Hermione. She’s driving me up a tree here.”

“See, that’s what is making me run,” Harry muttered back. “She’s scaring me.”

Ron barked out a laugh. “Look, just talk to her already, I think it’s a good idea. You should just listen and stop being such a bloody coward about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep in days, and it was beginning to show. He hadn’t realized how bad it was getting until he had looked in the mirror earlier that morning and saw the bruises under his eyes. No matter what, he was going to bed early that night. He still wanted to practice the fire shield a bit more, but with his single-minded focus having finally ended, he was remembering how much of the week he had spent brushing off his friends. It was starting to make him feel a bit guilty. His resolve to listen to whatever Hermione had in store for him strengthened just a smidge. 

They sat down for lunch as soon as they made it into the castle, both feeling starved from practice, Harry doubly so for missing breakfast. He stuffed his face with roasted carrots, potatoes, and broiled chicken that melted under his tongue instantly. It tasted like the most delicious thing he had in weeks, and that was how Hermione found the two of them, gobbling down lunch at a disgusting rate. 

She slid in between them, sending Harry a look of utter triumph while he nearly choked on a carrot. 

“Don’t you dare try to run,” Hermione said, shaking her fork at him. “I’m tired of you brushing us off.”

“Sorry, Hermione,” Harry mumbled. “I’ve just needed to blow off some steam you know, with Umbridge…”

Hermione snorted. “A convenient excuse,” she said, and hurled vegetables down onto her plate. Harry winced, knowing he’d really made her upset this time. The more he thought about how the last few days had gone, the worse he felt. He had practically ignored the two for an entire week.

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Padfoot gave me a book over the summer on spells for defense and dueling. I’ve been trying to learn a spell and it took me forever to figure out how to do it. I’m sorry about ignoring you.”

Hermione looked intrigued, but not enough to forgive him. Her eyebrows raised. “And every time you ran the moment I tried talking to you?”

“I admit that was pretty low of me,” Harry groaned. “But I know my wrongs, I’ll listen. You’ve caught me, Hermione.”

“Oh for–” Hermione shook her head. “Stop being so dramatic and at least have the decency to meet us in the common room later tonight.”

“I’ll be heading there after lunch,” Harry told her, “I need to work on that essay McGonagall gave us and the new Astronomy one.”

“Oh, you have the rest of it done?”

“I finished it already, in between practicing…” Harry caught a glimpse of her expression and grimaced. “Yes I know, I was hiding from you, what do you want me to say here?”

“Well at least you’re sorry about it,” Hermione muttered with a huff, and then dug into her plate of food. “Before you head for the tower though, I’d like to show both you and Ron something in the library.” She lowered her voice, speaking carefully. “Something about that ward.” 

Harry’s interest sharpened immediately. “You found it?”

“Not quite,” Hermione said in between bites of food. “Let’s talk about it later, somewhere more private.”

Harry swiftly remembered where they were, and his mouth smacked shut. “Right.”

After they had all finished lunch, the three of them headed for the library. They entered in silence, having long since understood what incurring Madam Pince’s wrath meant. 

“It’s over here,” Hermione said quietly as they passed through the stacks. She abruptly turned down an aisle, leaving the two boys to scramble after her. She stopped halfway down, moving her fingers along the spines of the books. “Here it is,” she said after a moment, and pulled the boldly colored book down from the shelf. Harry and Ron gathered closer to her.

“It took me ages to find anything of use,” Hermione whispered. “Let alone anything about this kind of ward, if it is one. But there is something similar in this book.”

“What is it?” Harry asked eagerly. 

“A ward used in government offices as a way to correct any misspellings before something is sent out. It’s not used very often anymore,” Hermione said.

“Never heard of it,” Ron said, crinkling his brow. “But it makes sense. Most people use self-spelling quills nowadays, rendering the ward useless.”

“So it only corrects spelling errors, not entire words?” Harry said. “That can’t be it.”

“It’s not,” Hermione said irritably. “Like I said, it’s similar, not exact.”

“Er–right,” Harry said. “Do you think it’s some kind of variant then?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione admitted. “It’s more that I wanted to prove wards of this sort exist at all that I was interested in. I’ll keep looking, but I get the feeling this might be all I will find.”

“If someone made this exclusively for her, it’s going to be very difficult to prove,” Ron said. “Spell creation is very, very dangerous work. Most of the time if someone invents a new spell, everyone hears about it eventually.”

“And Umbridge doesn’t seem like the type to keep something like this a secret,” Harry added carefully. He sighed. “We’re back at square one, aren’t we?”

“I’ll keep looking,” Hermione repeated as she placed the book back on the shelf, her shoulders slumping. “But you’re right, I don’t think this is going to be easy to find.” 

“I guess all we have left to do is go work on homework,” Ron said dully and took a step back in alarm as Hermione whirled around. 

“You’re right,” she said in an uncharacteristically sweet voice. “Guess we better head back to the dorms.”

Harry groaned, leaning against the shelves. “I guess this is it then.”

“It’s not like I’m taking you to the gallows,” Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just have something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Alright,” Harry said as he headed out of the stacks towards the door. “I–”

“Mr. Potter,” a voice said furiously, and Harry turned his head to find Madam Pince closing in on his location. 

“Madam–”

“None of that,” she snapped, shaking a finger at him. “I expected those books you took out back _ three days ago_. Well, do you have them with you?”

Harry froze on the spot, looking uncertainly toward his friends. “I don’t know what you mean,” Harry said slowly. “I haven’t taken any books out since coming back.”

“Lies,” Madam Pince said harshly. “I should have never let you take those books out–what did I expect from _ you_?”

She didn’t speak it outloud, but Harry could hear _ liar _ behind her words. “I–” Harry stared at her, mouth hanging open. “But I really haven’t taken anything out yet this year.”

“Enough,” she hissed. “Get out and don’t think of coming back unless those books are in your hands.”

Harry stared blankly toward her until she made a motion toward the door.

“Out!” she spat again, and the message finally sunk in. Harry hurried toward the library’s entrance to wait for his friends to join him.

“What the bloody hell was that all about?” Ron asked as he reached the door. 

“I have no idea,” Harry said as Hermione caught up to them both. “I haven’t taken anything out this year.” 

“Could it be from last year?” Ron said. “Getting locked out of the library is kind of a problem.”

“I know,” Harry answered irritably as Hermione said, ”That’s impossible as all books are returned by the end of the year. You cannot take them outside of Hogwarts, and any books remaining outside of the library are found and brought back by the house elves.”

Both Ron and Harry turned to stare at their friend. She flushed pink.

“I asked Madam Pince once,” she said defensively. “Since I wanted to know if I could bring books over the summer.” 

“Of course you did,” Ron said with a fond grin. 

“Anyway, do you think this could be someone messing with you, Harry?” Hermione said after clearing her throat. 

“What, by getting me banned from the library? What kind of stupid stunt is that?” He shook his head. 

“I dunno,” Ron said, looking as though he were biting down a laugh. “Second year we brewed polyjuice potion in a haunted bathroom just so we could go ask that blond twat what he was up to. If we could do it as kids, couldn’t someone else be doing the same thing?”

“And using Harry’s appearance to take out books from the library?” Hermione said. “That sounds unlikely.”

“You were the one who brought it up,” Ron said snidely. 

“Well I don’t remember taking out any books in the last two weeks, so what else could it be?” Harry said moodily. “That’s just great, isn’t it? Just what I needed.” 

Both Ron and Hermione winced. 

“We can try looking around for them,” Hermione tried. “Maybe you took the books out for homework and forgot?” 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I suppose that might be it.” There was something very odd about the situation that Harry felt like he was missing, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

“Well, let’s head back the common room, then,” Hermione continued. “Even if you’re banned from the library for the time being, I can share any supplementary reading with you if you’d like.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Hermione,” Harry said with relief. “Thanks.” 

She suddenly turned the full force of her gaze onto him. “But in return, you have to listen to my request.” 

“I was already going to do that.” 

“Were you?” Hermione said cooly, looking very unconvinced. “I thought you might try to run off again like a coward.”

Ron snickered as Harry raised his head to send her a look. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll listen,” Harry said, his voice full of complaints. Despite his tone, however, his lips twitched into a smile. It had been a long week, and he had missed them. 


	8. Chapter 8

The missing books were nowhere to be found inside the fifth-year boy’s dormitory, not that Harry expected to find them. The sight of Madam Pince’s face, warped with an emotion he didn’t want to remember, had him swiftly pretending as though it had never happened. Even if the books were returned it had nothing to do with him. 

After their search, the three of them settled down in the common room to work on their homework. It was hard to focus after visiting the library, taking until supper to finish. When they made their way down toward the Great Hall at half-past six, they narrowly missed running into Malfoy. The blond boy opened his mouth with a cocky sneer, but it shut moments later when Flitwick walked passed them.

“Next time, Potty, Weasel,” Malfoy said after their professor had left, and turned swiftly on his heel, heading for the Slytherin table.

Ron shook his head. “His nicknames for us are so uncreative now. Almost feel embarrassed for him really.”

“Oh, like ferret is any better,” Hermione muttered under her breath. They took a seat at their own table. “All three of you are positively juvenile.”

“Says the witch who punched him in the mouth,” Ron said snidely.

Hermione turned to argue, but stopped when something caught her attention. Harry didn’t have to look to know it was because someone had moved further down the table away from them, or maybe they were simply staring in that horrid way he knew now was because they thought he was a killer. Despite everything that had happened in the past few weeks, it felt as though nothing had changed. 

In his worst moments, when pain was ricocheting through his skull, when he was alone with his thoughts for too long, Harry cursed himself for telling the Minister that Voldemort had returned. Maybe if he had kept quiet, kept his name out of it and his mouth shut–but just the thought of it filled him with shame. It was a purely selfish desire he would never voice to anyone. 

When they returned to Gryffindor tower after they had finished eating, it was to an empty common room as the majority of their house was still at dinner. They took their chance to claim the cushiony seats by the fire. 

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Harry asked after they had all sat down. 

“It’s about D.A.D.A.” she said firmly, though Harry noticed her fidgeting with her hands. “It’s just, no one’s really learning anything in Defence right now with Umbridge. I’ve heard a lot of people are worried about passing their OWLs this year.” 

“Our OWLS are the last of our problems,” Harry said wearily. “What is it that you really want to say?”

“Well, it’s like this, Harry, we need a teacher. A proper one. One who can teach us how to protect ourselves.”

“Like getting someone from the order?” 

“No,” Hermione said, a hint of frustration lased through her tone. “I mean someone here. Someone who has actual experience using defensive spells.”

He took off his glasses to rub at his eyes. “Okay, so we get an older year? No offense, but most of them hate me right now.” 

“No, not an older year,” Hermione said quietly. “I’m talking about you.”

There was a moment of silence as Harry stared at her blankly before he burst into peals of laughter. 

“You’re joking, right?” Harry managed, mirth softening his features. “It’s not very funny though.”

“It’s not a joke,” Hermione snapped as she got to her feet, blocking the fireplace. “You’ve gone up against You-Know-Who again and again, and survived. That’s more than what most people can boast.”

Harry’s laughter ended abruptly, his expression twisting in a heartbeat. “When have I ever boasted–” 

“That isn’t what I meant,” Hermione said, and took a deep breath. “What I meant is that you have actual experience in situations where having defensive spells is important, and you could teach us that.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” Harry said sharply, jumping to his feet. There was a buzz ringing in his ears. “Have you been telling people about this?”

“I haven’t told anyone!” Hermione stressed, her hands clenching into fists. “But I’m sure if other people knew–”

“Woah, come on guys,” Ron said quickly, rising from his chair. “Let’s all just take a moment to relax.”

Harry ignored him, mouth curling into a snarl. “Do you really think I could help you like this? What could I possibly teach people that they would take seriously? You don’t get it, Hermione.”

“Then explain it to me,” Hermione said, her voice rising harshly as her face reddened with rage. “Tell me why it’s such a terrible idea for you to help us.”

“The only thing I have is luck,” Harry snapped. “I would have died in second year if Fawkes hadn’t come and Riddle wasn’t so full of himself. Last year I only got away because Voldemort was so pleased with his success. I found my chance to get away and I took it, but Cedric is dead and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I don’t have anything to teach you, let alone anyone else.”

“That isn’t true,” Hermione pleaded. “I’m not asking for a miracle–”

Her voice broke off as jagged laughter burst from Harry’s lips. “You would need a miracle to win this war,” he said and went completely still, mouth snapping shut with an audible pop. 

“I–” Harry looked between the two of them, struck silent and unmoving. His voice went quiet. “I didn’t mean that.” 

“But you did, didn’t you?” Hermione said, her voice a near whisper. “What’s going on with you, Harry? You’ve been different since summer.”

Ron smiled weakly toward him. “You know we’ll always be there for you, right? If you need help with something all you need to do is ask. We have your back.”

“I don’t want your help,” Harry said sharply, stepping away from both of them and toward the portrait entrance. “And I’m not doing that defense group.”

“You’re always running away!” The words burst from Hermione’s lips without her seeming to realize it, her voice trembling with bitterness. “You didn’t used to be like this, but now at the first sight of trouble you run from it. What’s happened to you?” 

“Maybe I’m just a coward at heart.” 

“That isn’t true,” Ron said immediately. “If someone’s in trouble you’re always first to give them a hand.”

Harry ground his teeth. There were things he had seen, emotions he had felt over the summer and into this fall that defied explanation. He had seen people, good people, reduced to nothing more but a mess of blubbering, ruined skin. They had never seen Voldemort work someone over until they gave in, cursing him in the same breath that they spat out every secret they knew. 

Voldemort had an advantage over Dumbledore and the order, and it was that he was willing to do whatever it took to win. Mass killings, using the corpses of the dead for his army, sacrificing his own people for even the slightest bit of power. He ruled through pain, and the small smidgens of reward he granted felt like a paradise. The war against him would be a desperate, hungry thing. How many would really choose Dumbledore, when Voldemort made life feel so simple, so easy?

“You don’t know what it was like during the first war,” Harry said, his heart beginning to race. “He was winning. He was _ so close_.” 

Hermione’s expression grew tight. “How would you know? You were just a baby then. I don’t exactly see you reading, either.”

“I just do, alright?” Harry said waspishly. He knew how close Voldemort had been winning like he knew Tom Riddle had killed his father in that broken down, rotting house he had been dreaming about all last year. Information trickled into his mind like some oily, tainted spring. Harry knew things about Voldemort he had no business knowing.

“I’m going out,” Harry said coolly after a moment, “Don’t bother waiting up.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Hermione snapped from behind him. 

Harry didn’t look back, heading through the portrait door without another word.

* * *

Weeks passed with Harry exchanging barely a word with Hermione. Though he sometimes spoke with Ron in passing, their conversations were as awkward as they had been last year right after they had made up, leaving Harry largely alone outside of class. He spent most of it up on the seventh floor, lying about in the various chairs the Room of Requirement provided him. His desperate attempts to learn new spells had come to a halt. There was no point in trying to learn new ways to protect himself when it would all be worthless anyway. 

A few times Hermione brought up the idea of the defense group again, as though them speaking to one another relied on him giving her the answer she wanted. Since his answer didn’t change, they continued to ignore one another. 

September passed and October began on a blustery Tuesday. Harry woke caked in sweat, as he often did. He found a seat next to Ron during their first class, though it was telling neither of them spoke, only a small nod to one another. Hermione sat on the other side of them and Harry watched as her hands balled into fists. They were silent through the class, not a word spoken to one another. The next class was much the same, as it had been for weeks.

Fred or George had occasionally brought up the mail ward after several more experiments, but Harry had lost all interest in it. He hadn’t realized how much he had been depending on his friends until they were no longer around, and now his life felt as though it were crumbling around him. His grades, which he had been trying in those first few weeks to keep up with, were beginning to fall flat. Awake or asleep, Harry felt as though he were wandering through a dream. Time passed without him noticing, hours gone in a blink of an eye. 

“This can’t go on,” Hermione spoke one evening, as Harry passed her on his way to the dorm. It was nearly midnight, the common room all but empty. 

Harry stopped an arm’s length away from her, hands tucked into the pockets of his robes. “What’s that? Are we talking now?” 

“Don’t,” Hermione said, something flashing behind her eyes. “I just want to talk to you.”

Harry stalled for a moment, before sinking into the chair next to her with a sigh. “What do you want?”

She bristled. “I didn’t think my defense idea would cause you to–to become so angry, but I think we both said things we didn’t mean.”

Harry looked up at the ceiling, light flickering across it from the fireplace. “I suppose.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Hermione snapped. “We haven’t spoken in weeks and that’s all you have to say?”

“Why would you care then?” Harry said, twisting his head toward her. “We’re not on speaking terms, remember?”

“Because despite the fact that we may be fighting, we’re still friends you _ twat_!”

Harry was struck silent for a moment, gaze slipping away from her face toward the fire. In the weeks they hadn’t spoken, it felt as though he had lost that too. His head turned back to her. “I’m sorry. I know I overreacted.”

“I accept your apology,” Hermione said swiftly. “But I want to know why you reacted that way. It was sort of scary, Harry.” 

His fingers found the back of his neck, where the chain was itching against his skin. “I told you before when we were back at Grimmauld. I dream through his eyes sometimes.”

“I remember.”

“A lot of the stuff I see makes it hard to believe that I’ll survive this. That anyone not on his side will survive this, honestly.”

“That sounds horrible,” Hermione said. 

“He knows magic beyond recognition with no morals, no boundaries. If the ministry keeps pretending he doesn’t exist, we won’t have a chance,” Harry said.

“But Professor Dumbledore–”

“Dumbledore’s just one man,” Harry interrupted her. “Voldemort’s forces will only grow larger and stronger until not even Dumbledore can do anything about it.”

“Do you think we should just give up?”

“Of course not,” Harry snapped, but found her eyes staring brightly toward him. His mouth closed. 

“I remember when you weren’t so afraid of him,” she said softly. “I worried about you then. I was afraid you would go running off to only get yourself killed, and you were my first friend.”

He felt a pang in his chest. “And now?” 

“I’m still scared,” Hermione admitted. “But is it truly so bad to be afraid of a man you know wants to kill you? I think a healthy dose of fear may be a good thing for you.”

“So I won’t run off so quickly and do something stupid?” Harry asked, his mouth quirking. 

“Something like that,” Hermione said with a small smile. It felt as though the wound between them was beginning to be patched up. “I can’t believe some of the things we’ve gotten up to over the years.” 

“I look back that second year, when I wandered down into the chamber of secrets alone after Ron told me to go on without him, even while knowing there was a giant snake somewhere inside. I must have been afraid, but looking back I seemed fearless.”

“But if you hadn’t, Ginny would be dead,” Hermione said quietly. 

“She would,” Harry said. “And Riddle would be alive.” 

There was a moment where the only sounds between them were the crackling of flames.

“What was he like? If you don’t mind me asking, I mean.”

It took a while for him to speak. It was hard to think about, even years later. “He made me think he was my friend within minutes of our meeting.” Harry began, head resting against the palm of his hand. “Even with Ginny cold on the floor while he stood over her, I still believed he would help us.” 

“He was charismatic then?”

“I’d never met anyone like him before,” Harry said simply. “But he’s lost that now. Doesn’t have the patience for it.”

“Well, I suppose that’s good for us, isn’t it?” Hermione said, her gaze moving over his face. 

“He has different methods now,” Harry said, in lieu of a real answer. 

Hermione shuddered. It didn’t take much to understand what he meant. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said after a moment. “The things I said to you weren’t right.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed an idea on you that you clearly had no interest in.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have shouted like that at you.”

“Okay, enough apologies,” Hermione said. It was clear she didn’t want to speak on it further. “I’ve accepted yours and that's that. It’s late so I’m going to head for bed. It looks like you could use some rest too.”

After weeks of not speaking to her, it was difficult to have her suddenly leave again. But Hermione was right, he was exhausted, as though being angry at her for all this time had sapped his energy entirely. He stood up to move toward the boy’s staircase. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” 

At breakfast the next morning, Ron clued in quickly to the fact that they were talking again. 

“Finally,” he groaned as he took another muffin. “Do you know how bloody awkward it was being between the two of you? Do you know how weird it feels sitting in the common room together completely silent because Harry’s banned from the library? Merlin’s beard.”

“Oh, so _ you’re _ the victim here?” Hermione said, raising a brow. 

Ron waved his free hand. “We all were, bloody miserable really. Glad we’re past all that.” 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re too much sometimes, you know?”

“Got you to laugh, didn’t it?” Ron said with a grin before going back to his breakfast. 

Though the day dragged on as it always did, after classes were over instead of rushing off to the Room of Requirement, Harry hung around in the common room with the two of them instead. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed them until he was losing to Ron over wizard’s chess, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. 

“Defeated again,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“You don’t even try anymore,” Ron complained. “Even the firsties try harder than you to beat me.” 

Harry eyed him carefully. “The first years don’t understand that they have zero chance of beating you.” 

Ron laughed outright, his fingers tapping over the board. “That’s your loss talking.”

“It’s been talking for quite a few years then,” Harry said, standing up from his seat. “I’ll leave so you can take on the next poor soul that doesn’t know any better.” 

“Oh come on, Harry,” Ron cajoled from his chair. “There’s always a chance you could win the next round.”

“Yeah right,” Harry said with a laugh, before wandering over to where Hermione was sitting. Her focus was set firmly on the needles next to her, where they were haphazardly knitting what Harry could only guess to be a hat. It seemed Dobby would be adding a new one to his ever-growing collection. 

He dropped into the seat next to her, rummaging around in his pack to find _ Curse or Cursed_. It had been weeks since he had last opened it, but with them having made up, something seemed to have changed in him. 

After a few minutes, Harry looked up to find Hermione glancing at him from time to time, eyes drawn toward the book. 

“Do you want to take a look?” Harry asked her, holding the book out toward her.

“I couldn’t,” Hermione said slowly, though her eyes never wavered from his outstretched hand.

“I can work on something else,” Harry said and pushed the book closer. 

“Oh–alright,” Hermione said, biting her lip, “I suppose I can take a break from knitting.” 

The needles and yarn stopped moving abruptly, floating down to the armrest. Hermione opened the book eagerly, and for a few moments Harry watched her eyes move across the page, drinking in the reality that they were speaking again. Then he pulled out his textbook for transfiguration, and got to work. 

Harry woke the next morning with the sun shining a path straight into his eyes when they opened. He rolled over with a groan, groping around on the side table for his glasses. Slipping them onto his face, he sat up, realizing distantly that the rest of the dorm was empty. He bolted upright. 

The Great Hall was empty when he arrived at its doors, making it all the more clear how late he was. Every small noise echoed eerily through the hall, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Harry was never late and yet here he was, having slept through first period. 

For a moment he wondered why Ron hadn’t woken him up, but then things were still a little strange between the three of them. He might have been worried that Harry would blow up at him. 

He let out a short hiss, the locket’s chain caught for a moment on his skin. He rubbed the back of his neck as he hurried out of the Great Hall and back into the corridor. He swept through the hallway and out into the courtyard, making it to the transfiguration classroom in time to find several of his classmates entering through the door. 

“Harry?” A voice called from beside him as he moved into the room, and found Ron and Hermione already sitting at one of the tables. He took a seat next to them. 

“Sorry, I slept in,” Harry said. He didn’t understand why he was so troubled by the idea of it, but he had never been one to sleep in late. There were times in the past few weeks where it felt as though his life was leeching away, hour by hour without him noticing.

“I figured but I thought you’d get up,” Ron said. “You said you’d only be a minute and then you never showed for breakfast.”

“I was awake?” The words jumbled from his mouth without thinking. 

Ron shrugged. “You were awake when I woke up, but I guess you had just gotten up for a second or something.”

Harry blinked rapidly, turning his head toward the front of the classroom. “Did I–was I acting strangely?”

“I don’t think so,” Ron said slowly. “You were probably just half asleep.”

He took a deep breath, turning his head back toward his friends. “I suppose you’re right. It’s nothing.”

It was a silly thing to worry about, and Harry pushed the thought away, digging around in his pack to pull out what he needed for class. 

“Is there something you’re worried about?” Hermione asked next to him, her shoulder brushing against his. 

“No,” Harry said hastily, not wanting them to worry. “I just don’t usually sleep late like that.”

“You were probably just tired.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Harry said, scratching at his collar. The locket’s chain was beginning to itch again. 

All conversation came to a stop as Professor McGonagall appeared through the door, walking up the aisle to the front of the room. 

“Take your seats, we have a lot to go over today,” she said loudly, and Harry's attention redirected toward her, his worries disappearing as he let her voice wash over him instead. 

“Look, I’m really sorry about how I’ve been acting lately,” Harry told them later, as they were walking to lunch. His voice was quiet enough only the two of them could hear him. “I know I’ve been a bit of–”

“A petty git?” Ron suggested. 

He winced. “Right, that. I just...I really don’t feel comfortable teaching other people my age something I know I’m not any better at. That and at least half the school thinks I’m a nutter anyway.” 

“There are ways of telling us that without shouting,” Hermione murmured, and Harry’s features tightened.

“You kept ignoring me when I did that,” Harry accused her, and it was her turn to look away, face flushing pink. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. But really, Harry, fifth year is one of two of the most important years of our schooling, and with You-Know-Who back, we _ need _ help.”

Harry took a deep breath as they rounded the corner, reaching the Great Hall. He reminded himself he gained nothing from shouting.

“I get what you’re saying, Hermione, I really do. I’m just not sure I’m the right fit for the job.”

“You’re the _only _one we have for the job,” Ron muttered under his breath. He groaned, passing a hand through his hair as Harry turned toward him. “Look, I know you don’t like the sound of it, but honestly, you’re the only one we have. Sure, an adult with actual teaching experience would be great, but we don’t have that. We only have you.”

“Is that supposed to make me want to help you?” Harry asked incredulously.

“It’s what I have,” Ron said defensively, shrugging his shoulders. “I know I didn’t say much when she first pitched the idea, but I agree with it.”

Harry raised a hand to rub his eyes. “I need time to think about it without either one of you bringing it up again.” 

“Can it be by the weekend?” Hermione asked him as they sat down for lunch.

“Just give him space, Hermione,” Ron said in her direction. “He’ll tell you when he knows what he wants to do.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, her voice sounding reluctant. “But–”

“Yes,” Harry snapped, “I’ll tell you by Saturday.” 

Hermione beamed at him, clapping her hands together. “Thank you, Harry!” 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Harry muttered under his breath, but she didn’t seem to hear him. The idea of even the slightest chance of him agreeing seemed to cause her to be lost in her own thoughts. Part of him wanted to be angry about it, but as the day continued he found himself unable to feel anything but relief. He had missed them more than he had ever realized. 

They had some time before Astronomy that night which they took to working on homework before heading for the tower. The air was cool and the two boys spent the night shivering until they were released. Hermione, of course, had been perfectly dressed for the weather. 

Harry fell into bed, asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, but he didn’t dream. Instead, when his eyes opened once more, they were a terrible, bloodshot red, and there was a man lying on the floor in front of him, mumbling gibberish. 

“And here I thought aurors were supposed to be taught occlumency,” Harry said coldly. “Truly..._disappointing_.”

The man screamed, his mouth opening wide to show red-dyed teeth. “They were telling the truth,” He said, eyes blown wide, flecks of blood staining the carpet as it flew from his lips. “All this time while we had a good laugh about it, you’ve been here.” 

“A laugh?” Harry said, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “Did you believe Dumbledore was as mad as they say in the papers? I imagine it’s rather disappointing to find me here instead.”

The man gasped, head hanging as he kneeled on the floor. “I was only a child during the first war, but you killed–”

He broke off as Harry sent a curse spinning toward bare skin, the man retching as pustules grew wide over his throat. 

“I have no interest in listening to your whining,” Harry said, a smile curling his mouth. “And you seem to have run out of usefulness.” He stood, watching the man’s eyes bulge in terror as the light at the end of his wand glowed a sickly green. 

_ “Avada Kedavra!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time I know, but I finally got another chapter done! I don't know when I'll update next, but this is at least something.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry felt some reluctance that Saturday afternoon as he, Ron, and Hermione trekked back up to the castle. There had been far more people interested in Hermione’s defense club than he had anticipated, and many of the faces that had shown up had been ignoring him all fall at best, and actively antagonizing him at worst. Now that it was over, though, and it was back to Hogwarts, Harry was feeling a bit unwilling. He loved Hogwarts like it were his home, but it was difficult loving a place that was so routinely upsetting, and this year it had been nothing but one explosive interaction after another. 

“There has to be a place large enough in Hogwarts to host a group of this size,” Hermione said from next to him, slightly out of breath as they scrambled up the hill. “It needs to be hidden too, of course. Professor Umbridge can’t know about it.”

“I guess any old classroom is out then.”

Hermione just sent Ron a look, as though an actual response was unnecessary. 

“How big do you think the area needs to be?” Harry said before Ron could open his mouth. 

She turned her attention back to the path. “At least the size of a classroom, preferably larger.”

“There’s this place,” Harry started and stopped. The Room of Requirement felt like _his _space, where he could go without anyone finding him. If he gave it up for the defense club, that would be over–but he had been acting far too selfish recently, and his friends didn’t deserve his misdirected anger, whether he had good reasons for it or not. “I can show it to you now if you’d like. I think it would work.”

“Is this the place you’ve been sneaking off to all term?” Hermione asked.

“The very same.”

“If you’re sure.” 

“I am.”

Ron looked between the two of them, before centering his attention on Harry. “If you don’t want to give it up, we can find somewhere else.”

“Why does it matter?” Hermione said with a bit of heat. “If he’s offering then it’s fine, right?”

“It’s okay,” Harry interrupted before they could get going. “Really. If we need a large dueling room, this would be perfect and I doubt we could find anything better. I’ll show it to you.” 

It was a long walk up to the seventh floor. Harry couldn’t remember the last time before this year that he and Hermione had been on the outs, but it felt as though at least one of them was apologizing to the other ever since they had gone back to school. 

“Why did you agree to it? You were against the idea for weeks,” she asked him while waiting for a staircase to move. 

“I dunno. I guess I just came around to it.” 

“That’s it?” Hermione said, disbelief crossing her features. 

Harry shrugged, not wanting to say anymore. He had woken up on Thursday morning with a pounding headache, racing to the toilets to puke with that auror’s last moments still seared into his brain. The blood crusted in his hair and around his face, the pustules still expanding over his throat, even now it was enough to make him sick. The idea of seeing one of his classmates in the same position one day had rapidly changed his mind. Even if all he could do was teach them how to run away, it would be worth it. 

“We’re here,” Harry said, once they had reached that stretch of empty wall. He passed it three times, the brass door emerging silently from the wall once he reached his final round. 

“How did you find this?” Hermione said. Her eyes had gone wide. 

“Dobby,” Harry said curtly and beckoned them inside. “Get in here before someone sees.”

His friends stood just inside the doorway once they entered, coming to a complete halt as the door shut behind them. Harry understood. Whatever they may have expected, it wouldn’t have come close to what Hogwarts had delivered. A long dueling hall, with mirrors stretching along the walls and stacks of bookcases filled to the brim. Dueling mannequins stood up against the wall farthest from them, ready to be called into use. 

“Merlin,” Ron whistled after awhile. “So this is where you’ve been running off to.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. 

“This is perfect,” Hermione breathed out and turned toward Harry. “You can control the layout can’t you?”

“I think so, but I haven’t really tried it,” Harry said. “Is there anything else we need to do before our first meeting?” 

“Well, we need to figure out a day that works for everyone, but other than scheduling around quidditch–” Her nose wrinkled. “–we could host one this week.”

“You’ve been up here exploding mannequins when you’re mad, haven’t you?” Ron interrupted, his lips trembling with barely held-in laughter.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. You’ve just been rather nasty this year.”

“I’ve been trying to control it,” Harry said, itching at his neck. 

“Well, at least you haven’t gotten any more detentions so far,” Hermione said firmly. She bit her lip. “I’m afraid with this defense group starting up, though, that may change. You may need to find a better strategy than taking your anger out up here.”

“It’s not like I can really help it.”

“It’s puberty,” Ron said sagely. “Percy went through a similar phase you know–though instead of losing his temper he became a bootlicking git instead.”

Hermione groaned but Harry found himself laughing instead. 

“Has he sent you any more letters?” Hermione said.

“Probably, but I’m not reading them,” Ron answered darkly. 

“Maybe he’ll realize how ridiculous he’s being soon and apologize.”

Ron scoffed. “That’s bloody unlikely. Besides, he’s got several people to apologize to before anyone of us is speaking to him again, Harry included.”

“Oh no, don’t include me in your family drama,” Harry said, raising his hands defensively. 

Ron laughed. “Harry, you’re part of the family already. There’s no escaping it.”

“You think?” Harry said, voice going quiet. 

“Of course,” Ron said empathetically. “We don’t steal the family car for anyone.”

Harry’s lips quirked, but he couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes.

“Well, we better get back to working on that Herbalogy essay,” Ron said, sensing his discomfort. “I’m only three inches in.”

“I’m not much better,” Harry said and sighed in relief. 

“Really? When will the two of you learn to work on things during the week?” Hermione said as they began toward the door. 

“I _ do_,” Ron complained. “But it’s just so boring, you know…six inches on the usage of self-fertilizing shrubs isn’t exactly riveting. Not everyone is like you, Hermione...” 

Monday morning arrived with another educational decree having passed overnight. 

“Did someone snitch?” Ron hissed under his breath as they entered through the doors of the Great Hall. 

“It’s possible, but I don’t think it was a student who did it. Then they would have to explain why they were in the Hog’s Head to begin with,” Hermione replied grimly. “Whichever the case, it doesn’t matter. We weren’t going to advertise it anyway.”

Her words didn’t make Harry feel any better. The decree hung over his head throughout the day and through quidditch practice that night. Angelina had thankfully gotten their team reinstated without too much trouble, though from what it sounded like it took her longer than every other house to do so. Harry had kept his mouth shut since his last outburst, but if Umbridge knew what they had been meeting in the Hog’s Head for, his good behavior didn’t mean much. 

That next night at eight o’clock sharp met a gathering of students huddled around on the seventh floor when Harry, Ron, and Hermione reached the top of the stairs. 

“Hey, Harry,” Alicia called from the crowd. “Is this the right place?”

He began pacing. “Sure is.” On the third round, the door appeared out from the wall, causing half the group to jump back in surprise. 

“Let’s not wait around to get caught,” he said when no one immediately moved, and the crowd began to shuffle through the doors. Harry counted heads to make sure everyone was there before joining them, the door disappearing behind him. 

“Well,” Harry said a moment later. “It’s nice to see you all here.”

There was a smattering of greetings in response and Harry took a deep breath, sending a pleading glance toward Hermione. 

“Wherever did you find this place?” Lavender said. “I’ve never seen a room like this in Hogwarts before.”

Harry reluctantly turned back toward the crowd. “It’s called the Room of Requirement,” he said. “It didn’t exist before I asked Hogwarts for it...I suppose?”

A few people looked unsettled at that. 

Hermione clapped her hands together to call their attention. “There are a few things we should do first before we get started. First thing, we should elect a leader. As Harry will be teaching us, I think he would be the best fit.”

“Hermione no,” Harry said. “You’re the one organizing–”

“That sounds about right to me,” Fred said cheerfully, swinging an arm around his brother. “Same for you, George?”

“Sounds good,” George said.

“Now wait a minute–”

“We call a vote. Who’s in favor?”

Every hand shot up in the air and Harry groaned softly. 

“I didn’t agree to this,” Harry said quietly to her, but Hermione resolutely ignored him.

“Our group needs a name as well,” she said, “Anyone have any ideas?”

“We All Hate Umbridge Group?” Ron suggested.

“Ministry of Magic Are–”

“I was thinking something slightly more serious,” Hermione interrupted Fred quickly. “Perhaps not announce our opinions quite so loudly either.”

Ron muffled his laughter from behind her. 

“What about the Defence Association,” Cho piped up. “Since we’re here to learn defensive magic. We can use D.A. for short.” 

“That’s not bad but let’s make D.A. stand for Dumbledore’s Army instead. I mean, that’s what Umbridge thinks we’re up to, isn’t it?” Ginny said. 

Hermione winced, but the laughter that rang through the room decided the name for them. 

“All in favor?” Hermione called out reluctantly and hands quickly raised in the air. 

“Dumbledore’s Army it is.”

Hours later, the three of them arrived back at the Gryffindor common room, Harry feeling pleasantly optimistic for the first time in weeks.

“I got loads better with the disarming spell,” Ron said as he flopped into one of the chairs in the commons. “You saw me, right?”

“When you actually managed to hit me, maybe,” Hermione said, her lips twitching. “I think you only hit me once in that whole time.”

“I disarmed you at least three times!” 

“Three? Are you counting the time when you ran into me by mistake?”

“That never happened!” Ron spluttered, ears turning pink. “Don’t lie in front of him.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, turning towards him. “Tell him I never lie.”

“I’m not getting involved in this,” Harry said, struggling not to laugh. “I’m going to bed.”

“Fine,” Ron said. “But you have to admit, I at least did better than that git Smith...” 

Up in the boy’s dorms, Harry changed into his pajamas as Neville chattered at him. The boy looked as though he were riding on a cloud. 

“That was incredible. I never thought I’d be able to cast the disarming charm like that,” he said cheerfully as he got into bed. “Anyway, ‘night Harry.”

“Night,” Harry said, feeling himself smile. 

Instead of falling asleep, Harry spent hours lying awake, making plans for future meetings. It was finally something he could look forward to. Even if he couldn’t help them against an opponent like Voldemort, it would at least be useful against some of his followers. 

Sometime later, Harry found himself looking at the locket for the first time in months. He had forgotten how beautiful it was with gleaming green gemstones and golden accents. He remembered dimly that it had been worse off when he first found it, but that seemed ridiculous. If it really had been an old, rusted thing Harry wouldn’t have taken it. It had always looked this way, like it was brand new. 

He chuckled quietly, thinking of when he’d nearly given it up back when he first found it, agonizing over telling someone he’d taken it. He was struck with laughter just thinking about it. 

The locket was his now, and he wouldn’t be giving it back to anyone.

* * *

There was something terrifying even after all this time when Harry woke in the morning after spending hours–for all extensive purposes–as Voldemort. Two weeks had passed since their first meeting, and they had moved on from _ Expelliarmus _to _ Stupefy_. Harry had been planning to move onto something like _ Reducto _just to practice something more interesting, but when Harry arrived at the Room of Requirement that night he just didn’t have it in him to supervise something so destructive. 

“Right, we’re continuing _ Stupefy _tonight,” he said, once he had everyone’s attention. “Now I know many of you feel pretty confident in casting it after our last session, so if you’re one of them try to partner up with someone who feels the same. Try casting it when the other person is moving around. Just try not to hit anyone else.” 

“We aren’t doing anything new tonight?” Seamus asked. He had begun to warm up to Harry again after the first meeting. Normally, it was nice having another person talking to him again, but tonight he felt bone-deep tired. 

“Not tonight,” Harry said. “I’ll be coming around to help if you need anything. Don’t be afraid to ask if you’re stuck.”

The first few minutes were always chaotic as they broke into pairs to practice. He waited until it settled before moving around the room, giving advice here and there. Tonight, however, his heart wasn’t really in it. 

“How much magic you funnel into it controls how long the effects last, right?” Terry Boot asked him as Harry reached him and Michael Corner. 

“Well, sure.”

“So...if you used a lot of power could you stun someone indefinitely?”

“That would be a coma,” Harry said dryly. Michael Corner burst into laughter. Terry turned red.

“Yeah, I know, but–”

“It would be off to Azkaban with you,” Michael Corner said cheerfully and Terry turned toward him with a glare.

“It would not. Listen okay–no–_listen_–”

Harry moved on to where Fred and George were dancing around, throwing spells at one another which were definitely not _ Stupefy_. The two of them were some of the few in the room whom he knew didn’t truly need to be there. Fred and George knew far more magic than Harry did. If they were just there in support, however, he appreciated it. 

He spent another hour correcting postures and hand movements and eventually went to sit near where Ron and Hermione were practicing, exhausted. When the clock struck nine o’clock, and it was only the three of them left in the dueling hall, Harry released that careful expression he had worn all day and sprawled out on the floor, not wanting to move. 

“Alright, spit it out,” Ron said after a few moments of this. “You’ve looked like shit all day.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“You never want to talk about it. Maybe that’s your problem.”

Harry raised his head but didn’t speak, just sending his friend a look. Ron sighed. 

“Is it You-Know-Who?” Hermione said sympathetically. 

“Of course it’s _him_. What else could it be?”

“I’m right here,” Harry snapped and laid his head back down with a dull thud. “It’s just, I try so hard to not let it get to me, especially not now.”

“Your dreams?” Hermione’s voice was sickeningly polite. 

“Yeah, those,” Harry answered grudgingly. “I haven’t told you really, how it feels. It’s not as though I’m in some scene watching over everything...it’s different.”

“How so?”

Harry hesitated and Ron made a face at him. 

“Look, it’s hard to talk about it. But...what he feels I feel and what he sees I see, you know?”

“What?” Ron said, staring at him with almost repulsed fascination. “You mean–it’s like you’re him in your dreams?”

“Yes,” Harry snapped and turned his head not to look at them. 

A dreadful silence filled the room. Harry rose from the floor. 

“He thinks differently than I do,” he said shortly. It almost felt good to tell someone. “When he hurts people it doesn’t bother him at all. He likes it–so I, so I like it.”

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron said, something like horror scattering over his features. “There has to be some way to block the connection. You shouldn’t have to live with this.”

“If there is I haven’t found it.” 

Hermione suddenly jolted forward and wrapped her arms around him. His breath exhaled like a punch to the gut.

“Hermione,” Harry said helplessly, his voice muffled in her hair.

“You can tell us anything,” Hermione said softly, “You know that right?”

“I know,” Harry replied quietly. “I know but it’s hard sometimes. I hate thinking about this stuff, let alone having to tell you both.” Hermione released him after a moment, and Ron’s nose wrinkled.

“Well, you know where we need to go then.”

“I’m banned, remember?” Harry said sourly. 

“I suppose we could sneak you in?” 

“Ron and I can go look by ourselves,” Hermione said quickly. “The last thing you need is another professor with a vendetta against you.”

Ron gave a theatrical groan. “You’re in luck, Harry. You get to lay about while we work instead.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find something to help you,” Hermione said. She sounded so determined, Harry almost believed her.

Even with their resolve, however, they found nothing about mind connections outside of old, archaic marriage bonds, something which Ron and Harry took at least a little amusement from.

There was nothing on connections like Harry’s however, nothing about magic that would bind two enemies to one another. It was hard to believe that no one in history had ever had a connection like this before, but it was a school library. 

“I’m not sure even the restricted section would have anything on it,” Hermione admitted to him a few nights later. “The connection you have, whatever it is, must be extremely dark magic. It’s something I guess Hogwarts doesn’t keep information on.”

“Anymore,” Harry added without thinking, before feeling a shiver crawl down his spine. He didn’t know where the thought came from, and it scared him.

Hermione looked at him sharply. “Anymore?”

“I mean,” Harry couldn’t look at her. “Surely it would have still been here during previous headmasters, right? Some of them came from Dark families.”

“Well, yes,” Hermione agreed slowly. “Not that it helps us.”

Harry felt more than ever as though he was being slowly tainted by something awful and there was nothing he could do about it. 

“Anyway, I don’t think we’ll find anything, but I’ll keep looking,” Hermione said, but her voice sounded so far away. 

Harry didn’t sleep well that night. He dreamt of Umbridge’s saccharine sweet smile as she watched him cut into his skin with a knife. His aunt was flying away, growing larger and larger until she burst. Gore covered Petunia’s pristine lawn and he could hear someone screaming distantly in his ear. 

He was laying lazily on a hill as the sun rose, streaks of purple and yellow stretching over the horizon. The sight of the sun rising used to give him such relief as a child. The scraggly, moth-eaten blankets the matron had given him did nothing to keep the chill away. He would spend nights flush against the wall curled into a ball, some of his old, extra clothes layered on top just to keep from freezing. It was almost funny how weak he’d used to be, back when the night was still something to fear, and he laughed. 

Harry spent the next morning desperately convincing himself the strange dream had been nothing but that. He had never lived at an orphanage and there had never been a matron cursing at him. That room, small and cramped with a single wardrobe across from his bed, though it was as familiar to him as his own cupboard under the stairs, was nothing more than a fantasy. He constantly felt like he was walking the edge of a tightrope. He felt great until he didn’t, and then he felt wretched. The D.A. meetings were beginning to become his lifeline. Something was happening to him, as if a transformation was taking place within his body and mind he wasn’t invited to. 

The first quidditch match of the season was set to take place on Saturday morning, a few days after their fourth meeting occurred, in which they had moved onto _ Reducto _as promised. Hermione had surprised them that meeting with _ Protean _-charmed galleons, which would let them know when meetings would occur next. It was a nice break from having twenty-odd people coming up to him repeatedly to ask when the next would occur, though it had been nice having so many people talking to him openly again. 

Harry did not feel overly hopeful in winning against Slytherin this game. Their team was still learning to work together, often with mixed results, and Ron was clearly terrified that Saturday morning. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Harry told his friend firmly as they made their way down to the field. “It’s a bit nerve-wracking for everyone’s first match.”

“I’m terrible, Harry,” Ron moaned. “There’s no way I can do this. Angelina should have picked Smith to do it. What was I thinking, trying out for the team.”

“Stop it,” Harry said sharply. “Stop doubting yourself. I’ve seen you play before when you’re not nervous and you did great. Just do your best out there.”

Ron groaned again but didn’t speak. He looked ill. 

Despite Harry’s assurances, the match did not go well. It ended with both him and the twins indefinitely suspended from the team and his firebolt locked up in where he assumed to be Umbridge’s office. He left McGonagall’s office in a cold rage and went straight to the Room of Requirement, where he sent dueling mannequins bursting into a pulpy mess until he calmed down somewhat, though he never made it back to the dorms that night. He laid down on one of the couches instead and stared at the wall for what felt like hours. His fingers caressed the locket. He was so terribly angry, but the locket made it seem all so very far away.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry crept through the portrait door into the common room at half-past eight the next morning. He didn’t regret staying out the night before, but the walk back had been nerve-wracking. He was still wearing his quidditch robes and anyone with a lick of sense would know he hadn’t been in his bed that night. The last thing he wanted to do was spend more hours in detention. 

“Oh, _ finally_,” a voice announced from near the fireplace and Harry nearly jumped. 

“Er, hullo Hermione,” Harry said warily. He looked up to find the girl tapping her foot, her arms crossed over her chest. It oddly reminded him of when Hermione caught him and Ron sneaking out in first year. She had the same pointed, exasperated look on her face she had back then. 

She uncrossed her arms with a deep sigh. “Did you eat at all last night?”

It wasn’t the question he had been expecting. He looked down at his robes which he had been wearing since the day before. “No?”

“Well you better hurry up then,” Hermione said with a small huff. “Hagrid’s back.”

“What?” Harry said, and immediately bolted for the stairs. “Give me five minutes!”

“Give it ten and shower first,” Hermione called after him. “You stink!”

Harry wrinkled his nose but didn’t deny it. Along with not changing, he hadn’t showered after the game yesterday either. Ten minutes met Harry scrambling back down the stairs where Hermione was waiting. 

“Where’s Ron?” Harry said as they moved toward the portrait together.

“He already went to breakfast,” Hermione answered swiftly. “We waited up for you last night since I noticed there were lights coming from Hagrid’s house, but you never returned.”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t feel much like talking.”

Hermione looked at him with some sympathy. “You should have seen Fred and George last night, Angelina too. It was completely unfair what Professor Umbridge did. Even if you did hit him.”

“You should have heard what he was saying, Hermione,” Harry replied heatedly. “I couldn’t just let it–”

“I heard,” Hermione cut him off, her voice grim. “You know he was hoping for this exact outcome, right?”

His shoulders slumped. “I know.”

“Well, it’s done now,” Hermione said briskly. “Let’s go eat quickly so we can see Hagrid.”

They met up with Ron in the Great Hall and after finishing their breakfast they headed down the hill to Hagrid’s home. Harry’s heart thumped painfully as he caught sight of smoke rising out of the chimney. The chill in the air should have been freezing, but he barely felt it.

When they reached his house Harry banged on the door. “Hagrid, it’s us!” 

For a moment, he heard nothing inside and he wondered if he wasn’t home. Then the door burst open, causing all three of them to step back in alarm. 

Hagrid was covered in bruises of various colors and ages, a few open wounds that were bleeding sluggishly, and his hair was coated in dried blood. The sight had Harry flinching back unconsciously. It almost looked as though the man had been tortured. 

“Hullo you three,” Hagrid said gruffly and held open the door. “Shoulda known you’d be down here soon enough.”

“Oh, Hagrid, what happened?” Hermione cried out as they made their way into the house. 

“It’s nuthin’,” Hagrid said, waving them off. “Don’ you worry ‘bout it.”

“That isn’t nothing,” Ron said, peering at him. “You look awful.”

“It’s nuthin’ alright?” Hagrid said firmly. “Want a cuppa?”

“_Hagrid!_” Hermione said, “You need to go see Madam Pomfrey.”

Hagrid didn’t answer right away, moving away to pour them tea. He placed three mugs in front of them and shook his head. “Don’t be stickin’ your nose in this, yeh hear?”

“It was giants, wasn’t it?” Hermione said and Hagrid groaned.

“Wha’ did I just say?” he said as he wandered over to the table, slapping a slab of meat over the worst side of his face. 

“If you’re back looking like this, does that mean it didn’t go well?” Hermione persisted.

“Alrigh’,” Hagrid said darkly. “I’ll tell yeh. But you better keep your mouth’s shut, eh?”

They nodded eagerly, but their fervor quickly faded as Hagrid told his story. Harry had known Voldemort had used the help of several magical creatures in the first war, but that seemed so far away before. 

“Is there anything that can be done to force Voldemort to lose their help?” Harry asked, his voice verging on desperate. 

“Don’t say his name,” Hagrid rumbled, still holding the raw steak over his eye. “Dumbledore and I ‘spect not. You-Know-Who’s offer, it’s lot more enticing see, he’ll let ‘em kill and we won’t. In their eyes, our deal wasn’ as good.”

“They could do a lot of damage under You-Know-Who’s orders,” Hermione said grimly. “Why anyone would want to call him their lord I don’t understand.”

“It’s the power,” Hagrid said heavily. “It tempts folks. Now yeh best be off. Some Umbridge woman showed up last night, sneakin’ about. Don’ think it’s safe fer the three of you to be down here.”

“Hagrid, you need to be careful,” Hermione said as she stood up from her seat. “She’s done a whole bunch of terrible things since she’s shown up.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” Hagrid said gruffly. “I’ll be fine. Yeh need to worry ‘bout yourselves. Now go on, get outta of here.”

No amount of pleading allowed them to stay longer. They walked back up to the castle with heavy hearts, Harry’s fingers digging into his skin hard enough to nearly draw blood.

“He’s not going listen, is he?” Hermione bemoaned as they trudged through the snow. “We all know how Umbridge feels about werewolves, I doubt giants, even half-ones are any better in her eyes.”

“She’s gonna try and sack him, and knowing Hagrid, he may even make it easy for her. She doesn’t let us practice any defensive spells, she’s not going to like any of the–the creatures we have to be cautious around,” Harry said. 

“We can get her sacked before she sacks him,” Ron said with a hollow tone. “She can’t be allowed to get rid of him.”

“We just have to hope the curse gets her. I hope it’s a death this time, personally,” Harry agreed darkly.

It was an indication of how bad things were that Hermione didn’t react to the comment. Harry spent the rest of the day worrying about Hagrid, wishing his return wasn’t so dangerous for him, and he knew it was a feeling that wouldn’t ease anytime soon.

The weeks slipped by quickly. Umbridge was as big of a threat as they knew she would be. She was determined to find a reason to rid Hagrid of his job as soon as possible, which the Slytherins were keen on helping her with. Every interview she had with them only seemed to make them more confident. By December, the only thing that got him through the endless slog was the promise of D.A. meetings, which were the last thing Harry had to look forward to. Quidditch was gone, and if Umbridge succeeded, it would be forever. Harry tried not to think about it.

Much to people’s excitement, they had finally moved on from _ Reducto _and onto the impediment jinx during their fifth meeting, though that feeling quickly faded.

“Is there anything else we could practice?” Susan Bones asked delicately as Harry drifted closer to where she and Hannah Abbott were practicing. Abbott stood frozen in place a few feet away, eyes flickering lazily over the room. “Something a bit more...interesting?”

Harry looked out over the hall where half of the people there were frozen as their partner waited aimlessly for the jinx to wear off. 

“You might be right about that,” Harry said. He raised his voice. “Listen up, once everyone is unfrozen we’ll work on a different spell, so just wait until then, okay?”

Harry returned to where Ron and Hermione were standing. Neither of them looked as though they had so much as raised their wands in at least ten minutes.

“I see this spell isn’t the most popular,” Harry said as he flopped onto a cushion near them. 

“We helped you master it for weeks last year,” Hermione said, flipping through a book she had brought. “I can say with full confidence neither Ron or I need to work on it further.”

Harry laughed. “I’d almost forgotten about that.”

“I wish I couldn’t remember,” Ron muttered. “It’s like you forget who you practiced on.”

He grinned easily at his friend. “And I thank you for your service. How’d you like to learn the Patronus charm instead?”

Ron’s eyes shot up. “Seriously?”

“It’s nearly the holidays, I figure we could work on something fun,” Harry said with a shrug. “It’ll probably take a few sessions to get through anyway so we might as well start tonight.”

“Wicked,” Ron said, flashing a smile. He tapped his chin. “You learned with a boggart right? Would it be easier to learn if we had one too?”

Harry's grin slipped from his face. “I don’t think my boggart is a dementor anymore.”

“Oh,” Ron said, quietening. 

“It’ll be fine,” Harry rushed to say. “It worked out well for me, but I doubt everyone who learns the Patronus had a dementor for a boggart to learn from. We can make do without.”

“Yeah, and I don’t know how it would have worked anyway,” Ron said quickly. “I mean, it’s not like it would have stayed in that form for other people.”

“Yeah you’re right,” Harry said. He looked around the room and found to his relief that everyone seemed to have unfrozen. He jumped to his feet.

“Everyone gather around!” Harry bellowed and they slowly formed a rough crowd around him.

“For the last hour of this meeting we will begin working on the Patronus charm.” Harry stopped for a moment as excited whispers sprung up around the room. He waited until it quieted. “Don’t be disappointed if you don’t get results this time or the next meeting, or even the next meeting after that. The Patronus charm is a difficult spell to master as it needs more to power the spell than just perfect pronunciation and wand movement. Fact is, that’s actually rather unimportant for this spell, instead, finding the memory to use for it is crucial.”

“I heard about that,” Anthony Goldstein said. “You need to think of a happy memory to power it, correct?”

“You’re right,” Harry said with a nod in the boy’s direction. “Not just any memory, either. You must think of the happiest moment in your life you’ve ever been in. Later, once you get used to casting it, you can use just feelings, or a flash of the faces of your loved ones. Anything really, as long as it makes you happy. It’s easier working with a complete memory at first though.”

“I’ve never learned a spell that uses emotions before–it kinda sounds like darker magic though, doesn’t it?” Terry Boot said. There was a flash of unease that crossed his features.

“Don’t be daft,” Ron guffawed. “The Patronus charm isn’t dark magic, or it’d be banned. It’s meant to protect you from evil, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Emotion-based magic is a trait of dark magic though, he isn’t wrong about that,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. “But emotion-based magic is everywhere, not just for spells that rely on feelings of hatred or fear.”

“What do you mean?” Susan Bones said, looking curious despite herself. “Are you talking about the Cruciatus curse? I’ve heard my aunt talking a bit about it but nothing about how it’s cast.”

The conversation was veering in a direction Harry was beginning to feel uncomfortable with. “The Patronus charm is powered by your most happy memories, by the things you love the most,” Harry began slowly. “The Cruciatus curse, by contrast, feeds off the very worst of your anger, of your hatred, and of your sadism. The worse you hate, the stronger the curse is, and the more pain it can cause.”

“Bloody hell,” someone murmured from the crowd. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

“Let’s get back to our actual topic,” he said and held his hands together, so no one could see that they had begun to shake. Maybe he had learned about the exact nature of the _ Cruciatus _curse from the book Sirius had given him, or perhaps he knew it from–some other way. 

“To cast the spell comes with several sequences which, when practiced, can be made almost instantaneously. I should mention also if you cannot think of an exact memory, you can–er–make one up. First, you must think of that memory which makes you happy. Then, begin to twirl your wand in a circular motion, to build up power. Finally, the incantation is _ Expecto Patronum_. If you are successful, one of two things will happen. One, you will conjure an incorporeal Patronus, or instead, you will conjure a corporeal Patronus.”

“The corporeal Patronus is the one which takes on the form of an animal, right?” Susan Bones said.

“Correct,” Harry said. He took out his wand and pointed it toward the middle of the hall where they had gathered around. He thought of his friends laughing as they cleaned out the rooms of Grimmauld. He remembered the peace he felt as he held the locket for the first time, the comfort he felt knowing now it sat snugly at his throat. “_Expecto Patronum! _”

The silvery stag burst from his wand, taking a loop around the room as voices erupted in wonder. 

“Can I touch it?” Hannah Abbott said as it neared her.

“Your hand will just go through it, but I suppose if you’d like,” Harry said with a bit of a laugh. The girl’s ears turned pink.

“I’ve never seen one before, well, I bet no one here has,” Terry Boot said as he also reached out to touch it. It passed through his fingers like water. “You really reckon we can cast one? Loads of adults can’t even after graduating.”

Harry hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Though it took me weeks to learn it myself, I don’t think it’s a difficult spell, exactly.”

Goldstein scoffed from the crowd as Harry’s Patronus faded from the room.

“I mean it,” Harry said firmly. “But the way to power the spell is so unfamiliar I think it really stumps people. In third year, I got into a bit of a...situation with dementors at the end of it. I was terrified, and desperate, and I tried so hard to cast a corporeal Patronus, but all that came out of my wand was incorporeal mist. A few hours later, I cast the Patronus charm again and what came out of my wand was that stag instead. Nothing changed, the amount of power I had was the same as it had always been. It was the emotion I felt that was different, that was what changed. I knew I could cast it.”

“So you’re saying you don’t need to be a powerful witch or wizard to cast it?” Susan Bones said, her lips twitching. “That’s a bit different from what I’ve heard.”

Harry shrugged. “Obviously, I’m not an expert.” Laughter shot through the crowd. “But I think we are so unused to using our emotions during casting spells, it makes it feel nearly impossible when we try to learn a spell that needs it.”

“I’ve heard dark wizards can’t cast the Patronus Charm,” Goldstein said. 

Harry hesitated, before letting out a sigh. “I don’t know if that’s true or not, but if it is I couldn’t tell you the reasons behind it.”

“It’s because of dark magic,” Terry Boot said sagely. “It’s like a poison, once it’s in your core that’s it. You’re addicted forever.”

“That is not true,” Susan Bones said with a bit of a sneer. “Where did you even hear something like that, it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s what everyone says,” Terry Boot returned stubbornly. “It’s why all that stuff is banned. Shouldn’t you know that since your aunt is some bigshot?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Harry said coolly. “We’ve gotten way off-topic. Let’s start practicing the Patronus charm before we run out of time. Just remember, don’t get frustrated if you don’t seem to be getting anywhere. I know you all are excited to learn it but it can take many weeks to master. I’ll be coming around to help and if you need anything, just call.”

The crowd began to split off to go practice, though some hung around a bit reluctantly as if hoping for the fight to continue. Harry waved them off until they were all hard at work, and sighed with some relief. 

“That got a bit heated, didn’t it?” Ron said lightly. He hadn’t yet left to go practice himself. 

Harry raised his head to look at him. “That was exhausting.”

Ron threw back his head and laughed before patting him on the shoulder. “Tough luck, mate. Though you did sign up for it by the end.”

“Do you regret agreeing to this?” Hermione asked from beside him. Something complex crossed her features. 

“Nah,” Harry said with a short laugh. “I’m really glad you talked me into it. Now go practice, yeah? I know you’re as excited to learn it as the rest of them.”

Hermione beamed at him before tugging Ron away. Harry began to wander the room as he usually did. It was difficult to help people this time, as casting the spell relied far more on what was happening inside someone’s head instead of improper wand movements or bad pronunciation. It reminded him of when Lupin was trying to help him find the perfect memory with little success. In the end, all it took for him to succeed was to realize he had already cast a fully corporeal Patronus before, and he had done it. He had reached deep into his brain and pulled out all the tiny bits of love he had ever experienced and never put words to, and his father’s animagus had burst from his wand. He had saved himself and his godfather. It had felt like the beginning of something. 

They practiced all the way up to nine o’clock sharp before they had to do their usual mad scramble back to the dorms. A few of them by the end had conjured a bit of mist, but not much else. Many were reluctant to leave it at that, but any later and they risked detention if they got caught. 

“You’re really good at this, you know?” Ron said as they crept through the corridors. Harry made a small noise in the back of his throat. 

“I’m serious,” Ron said with a grin. “You’re brilliant at explaining the details of how spells work and how to cast them.”

“Well, thanks,” Harry said, a tinge awkwardly. He felt his cheeks heat up. 

“He’s right, Harry, you’re doing really well,” Hermione added as she smiled at him. 

“Oh, come on guys,” Harry said with a bit of a groan. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Just accept our compliments, you’ve earned them,” Hermione said primly. They reached the portrait door. “Wattlebird.”

The door opened and they continued inside until they were standing at the parting steps. 

“Night, ‘Mione,” Ron said and Harry did the same before heading up to the dorm. 

That night he dreamed of a long hallway with walls a deep, shimmering black. The air was cold and the magic in the room felt oddly hostile as though it wanted to force him out, but Harry refused to leave. There was something there, something at the end of the hallway. It was a door, and he wanted entrance. _ It _was on the other side. It was there...he needed to know…

A few days before winter break began, Harry held one last D.A. meeting. He, Ron, and Hermione arrived early to the Room of Requirement after dinner. Ron entered through the door first and whistled loudly, stopping in the doorway.

“Harry, you’ve outdone yourself,” he said before exploding into laughter. 

“What are you–bloody hell.” Harry dropped his bag. Hundreds of golden baubles hung from the ceiling, each showing a picture of his own face smiling back at him. He peered at the small words at the bottom of one and cringed in horror.

“‘Have a very Harry Christmas’,” Ron said gasping for air as his laughter continued. “Merlin’s beard this is incredible. Who did this?”

“Dobby. Who else,” Harry said, dragging his hands down his face. “Help me take this stuff down before anyone else sees it.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione asked, her voice suspiciously sweet. Harry turned to look at her and found her biting her lip as if to hold back her own laughter. “I think it suits the room. Truly.”

“Oh please,” Harry said, glowering and she lost her straight face, snickering outright.

Harry marched over to where one of the strings of baubles met the wall and began to pull them down. After a few minutes of laughter, his friends joined him. They had gotten them all off the ceiling and hidden away by the time the first few people arrived and from there immediately started practicing the Patronus charm again. 

“That definitely went better than last time,” Hermione said later that night as they left through the door, though her brows were pushed together. 

“You’ll get it soon enough,” Harry said. “I think–”

“Merry Christmas!” 

Harry turned his head and waved towards Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott as they passed them in the corridor. 

“This must be the first time you’ve actually struggled with a spell before,” Ron said, looking a bit smug. He had successfully conjured a bit of silvery mist halfway through the meeting and had been insufferable ever since.

“You must be feeling very happy,” Hermione said diplomatically. Her jaw ticked. 

Ron grinned at her. “Oh trust me, I am.”

Harry groaned. “Oh come on–”

“Happy Yule, Harry!”

Harry swung his head to find Ernie Mcmillan passing behind them. “Happy Yule!”

“You don’t need to act so haughtily about it,” Hermione was saying. “Most of the group still can’t cast it.”

“And I am one of the few who can,” Ron said, nose in the air. “Which you aren’t a part of, obviously.” 

Hermione looked ready to shake him. “I may be struggling but–”

“See you after break, Harry!”

“See ya!” Harry called back and found his friends both staring toward him.

“Well aren’t you popular,” Hermione said a bit waspishly. 

“What are you getting angry at me for?” Harry said agast. “I–”

“Happy Holidays!” Terry said as they passed him, and Harry unconsciously answered back. When he turned toward his friends again, he found Hermione walking far ahead of them. Ron seemed to be trying not to laugh.

“Why are you antagonizing her like that?” Harry said with a deep sigh.

“Oh come on, Harry. She hasn’t struggled with a spell in what, forever?” 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I sure am,” Ron said with a huge grin. “Don’t worry–I’ll go apologize.” He wandered off ahead of him, whistling cheerfully. Harry shook his head. 

“Your friends are strange,” a voice said from behind him and Harry nearly jumped in the air.

“Merlin’s–Luna,” Harry said, peering at the strange girl. “Isn’t your common room in the other direction?”

“I have to return something to the library first,” Luna told him earnestly. “I just wanted to thank you for running D.A. I’m learning a lot.”

“Er–I’m happy you’re enjoying it,” Harry said, his tone going a bit awkward. He didn’t know what to say around her. 

They walked to the end of the corridor together, where Luna stepped off to the stairs. “See you after the holidays, Harry Potter.”

“You too, Happy Holidays!” Harry said and quickly continued toward the Gryffindor commons. When he arrived his friends were already sitting by the fireplace, Hermione scribbling furiously onto parchment. Harry collapsed into the chair next to them. 

“I’ll miss you over the break,” Harry said sincerely. 

Hermione looked up, her good mood seemingly having returned.“I haven’t gone skiing in ages,” she said beaming. “It’ll be nice seeing my parents too.”

Harry turned toward his other friend where he found Ron glowering, arms crossed over his chest.

“What’s your deal?” Harry said. “You seemed to be having a great time a few minutes ago.”

Ron scoffed. “She’s writing to _ Krum_. Isn’t that nice?”

Harry turned back to Hermione who looked thoroughly exasperated. 

“Seriously, you’re still on that?” Harry asked Ron. “I thought you liked him again.”

“His quidditch, maybe,” Ron said darkly. “But he’s the enemy, don’t forget it.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry said with a laugh. “The enemy to who? The tournament is over.”

Bizarrely, Ron’s cheeks dusted pink. “You wouldn’t understand, Harry.”

“Well alright,” Harry said. He wasn’t sure he wanted to understand anyway. “I’m gonna head for bed since I still have homework to do tomorrow. ‘Night.”

Hermione said goodnight to him and he headed up the stairs to the boy’s dorm. When he slipped into bed, it didn’t take him long before his eyes shut, falling into a deep sleep. 

* * *

Harry was starving. It had been ages since he had been allowed to feed on something larger than a rabbit. He was sluggish with hunger despite how important his mission was to be. 

The stone under his body was smooth and cold on his scales. It was a strange place he had been sent to. The room seemed to go on forever, with hundreds of cases filled with glowing, cloudy orbs. He didn’t like it here. 

He passed down row after row. It was supposed to be here, somewhere...but it was difficult for Harry to know exactly where he had to go. It hadn’t been made clear to him by–

There was a man a little ways down one of the rows. Harry could tell he was asleep as the man was slumped on the floor, head nodding slightly. It would be all too easy to bite into the soft flesh of his neck...but he had been told not to stop, not for anything unnecessary, and feeding...feeding was unnecessary. 

He began to move on, his body slithering silently over stone, but there was a noise suddenly behind him. He lifted his head, peering down the row to find the man stirring. 

Harry remembered the rules he had been told. He wasn’t to stop, but he wasn’t to be seen either...so this man would have to die. Harry turned without a hint of reluctance. 

He struck at the man’s neck before he could draw his wand properly, struck again in the face, another in the ribs. Blood darkened his vision as his face was covered in it, syrupy and warm. 

The man made a disgusting gurgling sound and blood drenched his lips as he coughed, splattering it over his robes. He slid to the floor, slumping over as if he had only fallen asleep again. The taste of blood was still on Harry’s tongue. Perhaps he could take a bite...no one but he would know...but his master–

But Harry didn’t have a master. 

His scar suddenly seared in pain and Harry jolted awake in his bed as a scream tore from his throat. He shut his mouth immediately, holding his hand to his scar as it continued to burn. 

“Harry, are you alright?” Ron was suddenly in front of his bed, expression twisted up in fear as he spoke. 

He was in Hogwarts, in his bed, but it was there in the Ministry of Magic where Mr. Weasley lied bleeding out on the floor. The thought had him shuddering and Harry wondered for a moment whether it had all been just an awful dream. The taste of blood in his mouth was still fresh, though Harry realized it was because he’d bitten his tongue in his sleep.

“I’ll go get someone!” A thunder of footsteps disappeared down the stairs as Harry continued to stare blankly at his friend.

Reality finally struck and Harry stumbled out of bed, gagging as the contents of his stomach threatened to surface.

“Ron,” Harry said, his throat burning with bile. “I need to get to Dumbledore.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron stammered, his features twitching with distress. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said, clutching the edge of his bed to keep from falling over. His scar felt as though it was hot enough to fry an egg. He could barely think, let alone try to persuade his friend to believe him. 

Something must have shown in his face though, enough to make Ron realize it wasn’t some strange joke.

“Oh Merlin, is it–” Ron whispered. “You know–?”

Harry could only nod, eyes beginning to water from the pain. A moment later, footsteps sounded outside the door, and Professor McGonagall along with Neville barged through the opening.

“What’s going on here? What’s happened?” She said, eyes jumping between the two of them. “Potter?”

“Professor, please,” Harry said, pleading for her to understand. “Mr. Weasley’s been attacked at the ministry. He’s been hurt really badly.”

For a moment, the room went silent as no one seemed to have any idea how to respond to him.

“Potter, are you...quite sure?” McGonagall asked delicately. 

His frustration suddenly spiked, from pain or from fear Harry didn’t know. “Of course I’m sure!” he shouted. “It was Voldemort’s snake. In that room with all the orbs.”

With those last words, his professor’s mouth slacked, her face going pale. “We need to get to the headmaster straight away. Come along–Weasley, you too.”

He felt a brief moment of relief before the thought of Mr. Weasley’s condition caused his anxiety to skyrocket. He scrambled after his professor as he heard Ron behind him tremble out, “My dad? Harry?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer, though, not while the memory of ripping into his father’s flesh was still fresh in his mind. Instead, he stumbled down the stairs and out into the corridors, clutching his scar as the pain only seemed to grow. A few times Ron had to catch him before he’d fall to the floor, the pain so strong Harry doubted he’d be able to get back up on his own. 

“What’s happening? What did you mean by my father being hurt?” Ron asked in a hushed voice as they moved through the hallways. Harry opened his mouth to speak but before he could, McGonagall turned back toward them.

“Quiet,” McGonagall said sharply. “Anyone could be listening.”

The rest of the walk to Dumbledore’s office was in complete silence, broken only by their footsteps and Harry’s occasional moan of pain, which had them both glancing at him in alarm. He felt lost in a haze as McGonagall spoke a word that must have been the password, and then he was ushered up the stairs. There was a crowd of voices behind the door at the top of the stairs, but once inside, it went silent as a grave. The hundreds of portraits only watched and didn’t speak again. 

A fresh burst of pain erupted from his scar when he looked up to find Dumbledore staring straight at him for the first time since last year. Instantly, Harry felt enraged, as if he might kill the man in front of him, but Dumbledore looked away and the feeling faded abruptly. Harry jolted forward, bracing against the desk that was filled with strange, silvery instruments. 

“Headmaster,” Harry said, and he heard his own words beginning to slur. “Mr. Weasley has been attacked at the ministry. He needs help. I think he’s dying.” At those last words, his voice dropped to a whisper.

Behind him, Ron made a noise like a cry met a shout. He collapsed against a case, causing an object to rattle. Dumbledore didn’t say a word, or look at any of them. 

“Please,” Harry cried out, “I’m not lying, I swear. He’s going to die if you don’t help him!”

Something flashed in his headmaster’s eyes before the man finally spoke. “Were you beside Voldemort, or perhaps looking down at the scene?”

Harry shook his head. “Why does that matter?”

“Please, Harry.”

Harry sagged into a chair. “Voldemort wasn’t there, it was his snake. I was–I was the snake.”

“What did you say?” Dumbledore said before he seemed to come to a realization. “The snake, of course…” For a moment he met Harry’s gaze, that flash of anger stirring to life again.

“I believe you, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly, before turning so quickly it made Harry flinch.

“Everard, Dilys! I need you to inform the order, make sure Arthur is found by one of ours,” the headmaster shouted. Above his head, two portraits spoke in acknowledgment, but Harry was barely paying attention now. He felt as though his role in this was over, and he sunk into a sleepy haze, as the pain was so great he could barely keep his eyes open. 

Dumbledore continued to speak, though Harry heard none of it. His mind was filled with flashes of that strange, chilling mind of the snake. Voldemort hadn’t been possessing her, he knew that, but then why could he see through her eyes? He understood that his connection to Voldemort’s mind was through his curse scar, but why then, was he also connected to the snake? 

He’d watched so many people be hurt by Voldemort now, but Harry hadn’t known them. He could pretend that distantly, they were all just dreams which he could wake up from and end the nightmare. But this was Mr. Weasley, someone he knew, someone he cared about. Harry began to wonder about all the rest of the wizards and witches he’d watched die and wondered if they had a family too, if they were looking for them…

“What’s going on?” He heard a voice ask anxiously, and he found Ginny, Fred, and George standing in the doorway. 

“It’s dad,” Ron croaked. “He’s been hurt.”

“What? How could that be?” Ginny asked. “Where is he?”

“He’s been taken to St. Mungos. I’m sending you all….

“...floo powder...”

“...Portkey is the safest...”

Harry fell in and out of consciousness, only picking up on occasional pieces of conversation. 

Voldemort knew Nagini had failed him, that she had been seen, and that Mr. Weasley had lived. His thoughts felt poisonous and repulsive, and despite the locket pressed into his skin under his pajamas, it didn’t seem to help at all. Voldemort’s rage was too great. 

“–Harry!” 

Harry blinked foggily back to reality and reached instinctively for the kettle he found himself next to, as the rest of the Weasley’s seemed to be holding it already. There was a twist and suddenly he was sprawled out on a dark, dirty carpet. 

“Blood traitors in my mistress’s house.” A voice growled above them, and Harry groaned, lying against the cool floor. 

“Harry–come on, get up,” Ron said from next to him, and roughly helped him to his feet. His eyesight was blurring, red and wet with tears. His forehead felt as though someone was pressing hot iron to it. 

“What’s happened?” Another voice said, and he felt Ron shift beside him.

“It’s our dad!” Ginny cried out, her voice as small and scared as it had been chamber years ago.

“I don’t understand, how did this happen?” Fred said. “How did you know?”

It took a moment to realize Fred was directing the question toward him. He opened his mouth, eyes unseeing, and closed it again.

“I–” Harry managed. “I don’t know.” It was the truth. Harry didn’t know how he’d been in Nagini’s mind. It made no sense, he couldn’t have a connection to a snake. He couldn't.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Let him be,” Ron said, voice cracking. “He can tell us later. We have to get to St. Mungos.”

“You can’t go running off to St. Mungos.” He heard the voice exclaim and realized it was his godfather. “How would you explain it?”

Harry fell back into a haze of pain. He didn’t want to have to talk to them, with the children of the man he’d just killed…Harry’s jaw clenched and he slumped into a chair he saw in front of him, hanging his head in his hands. He hadn’t killed anyone, he wasn’t the snake, and Mr. Weasley wasn’t dead, not yet…

Hours passed and Harry fell asleep again. With the pain in his scar still throbbing, falling in and out of consciousness was more of a blessing than a curse. He woke to the sound of Sirius yelling, “Kreacher, Kreacher–blasted elf!”

“What happened?” Harry said, jumping up at once. He looked around the room, finding Mrs. Weasley with her arms wrapped around her children. “Is he–?”

“He’s going to be fine,” she said, releasing them after a few seconds before making her way over to him. She pulled him into a fierce hug, tears in her eyes. “Bless you, Harry. There’s a good chance he wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t sounded the alarm. You’re the only reason he’s alive…”

Finally, Harry felt a tiny sliver of relief. He couldn’t stop the snake from hurting him, but if he had gotten help in time–

“...If you’ll have us, it will be easier to go see him here over Christmas,” Mrs. Weasley was saying, having released him.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Sirius assured her. “You can stay as long as you’d like.”

“I’m going to go rest,” Harry muttered and started for the hallway.

“What about breakfast?” Sirius called and Harry shook his head before stumbling out into the corridor and up the stairs. He managed to get to the hallway where he thought they’d stayed on during the summer and headed into the first bedroom he found. It was certainly not the one he and Ron had used, but there was a bed and it looked clean enough. 

Harry crawled under the blankets and tried very hard not to think about what he had felt that night. There had been something wrong with that snake, beyond the intelligence it displayed. It had been twisted beyond reason, beyond its original self, and Harry knew that, but as he tried to fall asleep he couldn’t rid himself of that feeling of syrupy blood flush in his mouth, of Mr. Weasley’s prone form and that overwhelming, desperate hunger.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry slept through the sun’s rise and fall, and when he woke next it was low in the sky, the house completely silent. He rolled off the bed, pressing his hand to his scar as he winced. He didn’t know where he was, not recognizing the room he was in. For a moment, fear shot down his spine and he stumbled to the door, worried it might be locked. He didn’t know where the thought came from but it drove him forward, fumbling with the doorknob. It swung open with a high-pitched squeak and Harry nearly collapsed with relief. 

He padded down the hallway, stopping at the top of the stairs to peer down toward the first floor. He still couldn’t hear anything. 

There was something different about Grimmauld. The wallpaper was bright and clean, the windows polished, and the rugs he stepped over looked brand new. 

“Sirius?” Harry called out as he stepped into the kitchen. Gone were the years of neglect. Apprehension coiled in his belly and he crept back out, careful not to make a sound. He went into the hallway, eyes running over the polished shine of the wood and the portraits which followed his every move. 

There was suddenly a voice, further away...without thinking Harry followed it down the corridor, past the dining room to the sitting room where he and Ron had spent so much time in during the summer. His heartbeat sounded panicked and Harry could hear it when he stood still, pounding loudly in his ears. 

“...if only you were a pureblood,” a voice was saying. “Orion is a good boy, you understand, but ever so dull.”

There was a rich, charming laugh. Harry moved closer without thinking. “What a scandalous thing to say about your betrothed, Miss Black.”

The woman let out a soft breath. “Though I suppose your reason for coming here today was to visit him, perhaps...you also came to visit me?”

“I’m but a poor halfblood,” the voice said with a theatrical sigh. “Your parents do not approve of my existing in the magic community, let alone getting close to their lovely daughter.”

“My parents do not need to know,” she said, and laughed coquettishly.

Harry knew at once he shouldn’t be there. Nonetheless, he crept closer. The man’s voice–he recognized it. Harry gazed through the glass window separating the sitting room with the rest of the house and nearly gagged as his throat filled up with terror. 

He was different. Time had not touched him yet. His eyes were a gentle brown and not the horrible scarlet Harry was familiar with. He was taller than he remembered, as though he had shot up over the summer of seventh year, and he was leaning close to a woman with long, black hair. 

Harry took a step back and the wood under his feet creaked. He felt as though he had the wind knocked out of him. Looking up, he saw that the man was watching him through the glass. Riddle smiled, slowly now, and rose from his seat on the couch. His eyes were changing color.

“It seems you have a pest problem, Miss Black,” he said, his lip curling. There was a wand in his hand. Stark-terror kept Harry stuck to where he was. “What a sneaky little _ rat_.”

Harry finally bolted, back up the hallway like a shot to the stairs where he scrambled up them two at a time. He reached the door of the room he had come out of and slammed it behind him, sliding to the floor against its frame. For a minute all was silent, but it only caused his fear to heighten. He knew Riddle wasn’t gone. 

“Harry...” a voice murmured outside the room and Harry held his breath, eyes not leaving the door. “How did you get in here, I wonder?”

Harry said nothing, his nails beginning to dig into his flesh. Riddle laughed again, his voice almost gone soft.

“Open the door, Harry,” Riddle said appealingly. “I won’t tell anyone–”

“Go away,” Harry snarled, his entire body tensing. “I won’t let you in.”

“Why is that? I don’t mean to hurt you, Harry.” 

Harry could hear the smile in his voice and shuddered. He had to get out of here.

“I want us to come to a sort of understanding,” Riddle said. His voice turned thoughtful. “But perhaps you aren’t ready for that yet.”

“Get out,” Harry said, dropping his head into his arms. “Get out, get out _get out! _”

“Harry!”

Harry jolted awake for the second time, bolting from his bed to find Ron staring dumbstruck at him. The boy was holding Harry’s trunk in one hand, and the other hanging loosely at his side.

Harry was breathing heavily and his skin was slick with sweat. The locket was burning against his bare skin and Harry hurriedly pushed it over his shirt instead.

“You were screaming in your sleep,” Ron said a bit uncertainly. The _again _was left unsaid.

“I–” Harry began and stopped. Ron had changed into different clothes since the last time he had seen him. “Did you go somewhere?”

Ron scratched his head. “We went to go see dad. You were still sleeping by the time we left, and Sirius said it was better to let you rest, since you know, you were so exhausted.”

Harry licked his lips. A pearl of sweat ran down his cheek. “I see. Is Mr. Weasley alright?”

Several emotions flashed across his friend’s face. “The healers say he’s going to be okay,” Ron said. The boy hesitated for a split-second. “They say he was poisoned by that snake, and it’s going to take a while for him to completely heal.”

“That’s good news though, isn’t it?” Harry murmured. His heartbeat was finally slowing. “I need to go shower.”

“Right,” Ron said with obvious relief and dropped the trunk at his feet. “I’ll just–I’ll be downstairs. Mum’s making dinner soon if you’re hungry.”

“Okay,” Harry said, and they stared at one another for a moment before Ron left the room in a hurry. He remained standing in the middle of the room, eyes trailing over the unfamiliar nooks and cracks in the walls. It was the room in his dream, and the thought sent Harry hurrying over to his trunk where he found a set of clothes he could change into. 

The bathroom on the second floor was a few doors down and when Harry darted through its door and closed it behind him, he immediately looked into the mirror. He looked feverish. There were dark, bruised circles under his eyes, and his hair was matted to his scalp with sweat. He took a moment longer to stare into the mirror before he went to take a shower. Riddle was gone–he had never been there in the first place, but Harry still felt chained to the fear he had felt in that terrible dream.

When he arrived downstairs a little while later, conversation stopped in its tracks when he entered the dining room. 

“Hey Harry,” Ron said weakly when no one else spoke. Harry slowly moved over to the table, taking a seat by his friend. He felt abruptly as though he was sitting in a room filled with people who didn’t want him there.

“Oh there you are, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said as she bustled in through the doors separating from the kitchen. “Are you feeling any better since this morning?”

“Er–yes,” Harry said, turning his attention away from the rest of the Weasley family who were watching him with an odd look in their eyes. 

“That’s wonderful, dear,” she said, smiling kindly at him. “Did Ron tell you? He’ll be right as rain soon enough!”

Harry managed a weak smile in return. “That’s great,” he said. “Do you think he’ll be back before the holidays?”

Her smile dimmed somewhat. “Oh, probably not,” she said quietly. “Before the end of winter break, perhaps.”

“That’s good,” Harry said. There was silence again and Harry didn’t know how to fill it.

“Hey kid,” Sirius said casually toward Harry as he entered the dining room. “That looks wonderful, Molly.”

Mrs. Weasley seemed grateful for the distraction. “We must celebrate, of course!” She set the roasted pork down with her wand and left back for the kitchen.

“You were dead to the world all day,” Sirius said once he had sat down also. “Must have really needed the sleep, eh? Not that anyone would blame you.”

“I wish I could’ve gone to see Mr. Weasley though,” Harry said, attempting to keep the edge out of his voice. The Weasley’s shifted. 

“It didn’t feel right waking you,” Sirius said firmly. “You looked awful when you showed up here, you know that, right?”

“I know,” Harry said, a bit dully. A moment later, more dishes floated out of the kitchen and Mrs. Weasley soon followed. Once she had taken a place at the table, they began to eat. 

Though it had been the day before that Harry had last eaten, he didn’t feel very hungry. Thoughts of that other Grimmauld Place twisted around in his mind, and he pushed his food from one side of his plate to the other. That woman had looked familiar somehow, but Harry didn’t know from where. Riddle–but it was all only a dream, anyway. There was no use thinking about it.

They retired after dinner to the sitting room, as they often had in the summer. For a moment Harry hesitated in the doorway, remembering the scene he had stumbled into hours before, but then reluctantly entered. 

“Well, what is it?” Harry said crabbily, after a few minutes of silence. None of them seemed to be able to so much as look at him.

Ginny groaned, leaning back into the couch. “It’s just. You know those extendable ears we used all summer to spy on meetings with?”

“Well, sure,” Harry said slowly.

“They brought them to the hospital, Merlin knows why. We got kicked out about halfway through the visit so the grownups could talk.” She leveled a stare at her brothers. Whatever was bothering them, Ginny didn’t seem to agree with. “Then they started talking about you.”

“Who was?” Harry said, leaning forward. “Your parents?”

“Oh, Tonks and Mad-Eye were there too,” Ginny said airily. “They said you could have been possessed by Voldemort. Which I think is bollocks.”

“_What? _” Harry said, leaping to his feet. “Do they think I did it?” 

“It’s not like that,” Fred said uncomfortably. “It’s just weird, innit? I mean, you knew exactly where dad was and what had happened to him.”

“Because I _ dreamed _it,” Harry said with a bit of heat. “What, did you think I turned into a bloody snake and siced myself on your father?”

Ginny let out an uncomfortable, high pitched puff of laughter. “It’s ridiculous. I mean, you all suddenly think you're experts on possession and don’t bother to listen to me, right? It’s not like I’ve been possessed by the same man before. It’s not like I have any good opinions–”

George sighed heavily. “You know we don’t mean it like that.”

“Mean it like what?” Ginny said, cheeks and neck turning red. “You all like to pretend like my first year didn’t happen, but it did!” She swung around at him, breathing heavily. “Unless he can fly out the window across hundreds of miles and back within a few minutes of course he didn’t do it!”

Ron scratched his head. “I knew it wasn’t you, Harry. It’s like those dreams you have of You-Know-Who, right?”

“Yes exactly,” Harry said, feeling some relief. “I don’t know why I could see through that snake's eyes, but it did feel like how it does with Voldemort.”

“Why didn’t you say that at the hospital then?” Ginny said cooly. 

“None of you were listening to me, as usual,” Ron snapped, crossing his arms. “What would be the point?”

“Okay, okay,” Fred said hurriedly. “Harry isn’t possessed, we get it. Now let’s all just calm down. How about a game of exploding snap?”

They reluctantly settled down to play but it was clear none of them were really into it. It was evident the attack had caused some hidden feelings to be uncovered, and though Harry may have been the cause of it, he didn’t feel welcome in whatever family dispute was unfolding in front of him. 

He left the living room early and went to bed. He didn’t bother moving back into his and Ron’s old room. If he was going to start screaming again, he didn’t want to wake Ron up. 

Thankfully, whatever dreams he had that night he could no longer remember them in the morning, the sky still dark when he woke. He was as quiet as he could when he walked down the stairs, stopping on the smudged, ugly rug. The sight of it filled him with inexplicable relief. He began toward the kitchen and stopped again. He had gotten so used to the curtain covering Mrs. Black’s portrait, he’d forgotten it had existed at all, but he remembered now. She had the same long, dark hair and her voice, from all the times he had heard it shrieking down the hall, was the same. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. If she had really existed, if Riddle had been here–something was coming together in a way Harry didn’t understand. There was something he was missing but nothing was coming to him, as though there was a large blank spot in his memory. 

“What are you doing standing in the hallway?” A voice said from behind him and Harry jumped, before sighing when he realized it was only his godfather.

“You know it’s only five in the morning?” Sirius spoke again.

Harry shrugged. “I slept all day yesterday, you know. What’s your excuse?”

Sirius chuckled. “Well, you have me there. You hungry?”

Harry followed his godfather into the kitchen where they made a quick snack of the scraps leftover from the night before. 

“We haven’t gotten to talk since summer, huh?” Sirius said agreeably as he leaned against the countertop. 

“Umbridge has been on our tails since the start of school. That and your warning of letters being intercepted kind of turned me off sending them,” Harry said around chewing a piece of pork. Talking to his godfather almost let him forget all that happened in the last few days.

Sirius made a face. “Blast. I suppose I did tell you that.”

Harry laughed for the first time in days. “She doesn’t teach us anything, not that it stopped us.”

“Oh?” Sirius said, a gleam in his eyes. “What kind of trouble have you been up to then?”

“It was Hermione’s idea, but she brought me around to it eventually,” Harry admitted. “We started a secret defense club. I suppose it’s technically against the rules now, considering how every group activity has to be approved by her.”

Sirius grinned. “And I suppose it was made against the rules _ after _ she found out about your club, right?”

“Right,” Harry said with a small smile. 

Sirius burst into laughter, which quieted when he remembered what time it was. “That sounds like something we’d do–Remus, James, Peter, and I. We were always getting into trouble, you know. The number of times we had to scrub out cauldrons or polish trophies...”

“Thankfully I’ve stayed out of detentions for the most part this year,” Harry said, wrinkling his nose. “I wanted to tell you that the book you gave me, _ Curse or Cursed_, has been really helpful.”

Sirius got a funny look on his face, as though he didn’t know whether to be pleased or unhappy. Something bittersweet.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” he said gruffly. “It was a gift for me, a long time ago.”

“From my dad?” Harry asked, eyes widening. He had barely anything from his father other than the cloak.

“No, though I have a few things he gave me over the years here if you’d like to look at them,” Sirius said slowly. “No, it was from my brother. He said if I wasn’t willing to learn our family’s usual range of spells, I better find another way to defend myself. One of the last times I ever saw him actually.”

“What happened?” 

“He joined Voldemort,” Sirius said grimly. “Then Reggie got himself killed somehow–dunno if it was his own side or ours that did it.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry replied quickly. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

Sirius sighed, looking away. “It’s been a long time, and once we hit Hogwarts we were never close. He was my little brother, who made very stupid choices, but he wasn’t a terrible one. A brother, I mean.”

Harry struggled for words, not knowing what to say. Sirius turned his head back to him and laughed, brighter this time.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. Really, it was such a long time ago. Anyway, tell me about your defense group. What have you been teaching?”

* * *

Hermione arrived the next day following lunch. Things had settled between the Weasley’s and Harry after spending all morning and afternoon putting up Christmas decorations. It was difficult to stay prickly with one other while Sirius belted out Celestina Warbeck’s holiday album a floor above. Hours later, the house was now covered in festively colored bulbs, glass baubles, garlands, and a sleigh pulled by reindeer flew in loops around the townhouse. When Hermione came pushing her trunks through the door, Harry was up on a stool looping golden tinsel over the handrails of the staircase. 

“Harry!” She called from below him and he looked down in surprise to find his friend waving up at him.

“Hermione, what are you doing here?” Harry exclaimed, getting down from the ladder. “Weren’t you going skiing? You sounded so excited about it.”

“Well for one, I was hardly going to go off to another country while Mr. Weasley was in the hospital and you were all here. And secondly,” Hermione said, lowering her voice. “I only pretended to be so interested in skiing because Ron found the whole idea of it to be hilarious and I’d had it.”

“I see,” Harry said, stifling a laugh. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” He looked up through the gap in the stairs, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Oi, Ron! Hermione’s here!” 

There was a thundering of footsteps as several people clamored down the stairs. Ginny appeared first, slightly out of breath. 

“Hermione! I didn’t know you’d be here for Christmas,” she said, adjusting her grip on a clump of something green and prickly.

“Don’t tell me that’s mistletoe,” Ron groaned as he came up from behind her. “Oh hey, Hermione.”

“Hello Ginny, Ron,” Hermione said dryly. “What’s that about mistletoe?”

Ginny sent her an impish grin. “It’s enchanted mistletoe, what else?”

“It better not be the type I had to take down for prefect duties,” Hermione said and shot a suspicious look at Ron.

“Why would I take any of that junk?” Ron grumbled, looking a bit offended. “Well? What is it, Ginny? It better not be the kissing type.”

“Now how would I have something like that?” Ginny said sweetly. “Anyway, Mum took it from George and told me to go throw it out.”

“_Are _ you going to throw it out?”

“Of course not,” Ginny said breezily. “Now if you’d excuse me…”

The three of them watched her trot off toward the living room in silence.

“Well,” Harry said after a moment, “I’m going to feel very paranoid until Mrs. Weasley finds it again.”

Hermione shook her head, making a motion to pick up her trunks again. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go put my things away.”

“I’ll help you,” Ron rushed to say, and grabbed hold of one of her trunks before she could. Harry struggled to keep a straight face.

“Thank you, Ron,” Hermione said and Harry watched Ron’s face turn a little ruddy. 

Harry went back to twisting tinsel around the railing until Hermione returned. She peeked over the railing, wearing a vibrantly festive sweater. 

“I know,” she said, looking ready to laugh herself. “It’s just, when else would I wear it?”

“It’s very fitting for the holidays.”

“Uh-huh,” Hermione said. “Mrs. Weasley told me to relax since I’ve only just arrived but I can hardly sit around and do nothing while you all decorate. Hand me some of that, will you?”

Harry grabbed a strand of golden tinsel from the pile hanging over the stepstool and handed it up to her. 

“So,” Hermione announced, after a few minutes of silently working. The only noise between the two of them had been the quiet rustling while they worked and the faint sound of Sirius's voice as he sung along to the radio. “How bad is it? Dumbledore told me not to worry, but he also was pushing me very quickly towards the Knight Bus before Umbridge could find some way to keep me there.”

“He’s alive,” Harry said. “The Weasley’s all went to see him but I slept through it.”

“I can tell that bothers you,” Hermione said astutely.

Harry stopped briefly, letting the tinsel slide down the railing a bit before he got back to work. “Not really, it’s just, I would have liked to see him to make sure he was okay. I–I dreamed I was the snake.”

“Ah,” Hermione said, and for a few minutes they said nothing to one another. 

Harry had moved the ladder over to start onto another section when she spoke again.

“He wasn’t possessing the snake, was he?” 

“I’m sure he wasn’t,” Harry said glumly. A particularly loud warble from Sirius came trickling out of a room upstairs. 

“I’ll try researching more here,” Hermione said, her voice firm. “If there’s going to be anything on strange ties between foes, one of the most infamous wizarding families in Europe would have something on it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Harry said, his voice a bit hesitant. He wanted answers, but for the first time, he was also terrified of what she might find. 

By nightfall, nearly every surface was covered in fairy lights or sparkling icicle tinsel, and a huge, overly-decorated tree was standing in the living room. After he had finished wrapping the railings, he helped Ron dress the house-elf heads in Santa hats and little grey beards with mixed results.

“It’s kind of gruesome,” Ron said after they had finished. They stood in front of their handiwork feeling various degrees of horror.

“Sirius gets a sick pleasure out of pissing off Mrs. Black and apparently this would really make it,” Harry said with a little humor.

Ron groaned. “Don’t remind me of that. No, that’s it, I’m done for tonight. I can only take so much decorating before my brain melts out of my ears.”

“Charming,” Hermione said as she passed by them, a box of ornaments held in her arms. Ron stared after her. 

“Is that from decorating the tree? Why didn’t we get to do that?” he complained, pointing a finger toward her.

“According to your mother, we have no talent for the details,” Harry said flatly. They looked at one another before bursting into laughter. 

That night Harry dreamed of a sleek, black-stoned corridor, and a solid white door made of bone. The door opened a crack and Harry peeked through to the other side to find thousands of cloudy, pearly orbs. Something glinted from one of the rows as a great, yellow eye emerged out of the dark. Harry tumbled back, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Harry scrambled out of bed as his scar erupted in pain, his eyes not fully opened. He narrowly missed crashing into the side table, and when he opened his eyes, even the faint light coming in through the window caused him to hiss in pain. He rubbed his forehead, his scar twitching painfully when his fingers met inflamed skin. Muttering a curse as he recoiled, he stared blankly at the door in front of him, not recognizing where he was for a moment. It was just the room he’d slept in at Grimmauld, however, and patted the sides of his face with his hands, as though testing if it was real.

He briefly touched the locket under his shirt for comfort, before Harry cautiously made for the door. He stepped out into the hallway, checking to see if anyone was out there. It was just him, though from the floor below he could hear voices. Tucking back into the room, he grabbed fresh clothes before stepping out again, stumbling toward the bathroom before anyone else could claim it. 

By the time he emerged, Ginny stood outside, her foot tapping impatiently on the scratched up floor. 

“Finally,” she snapped and rushed past him into the still-steaming bathroom. “I’ve been waiting for ages.”

“There’s a bathroom upstairs with a shower too,” Harry called back, and the last glimpse he had of her was her eyes rolling before the door slammed shut. With a snort, he strode back to his room, throwing his pajamas inside before turning his gaze into the unimpressed features of Hermione.

“You just throw your clothing back in there, onto the floor?” she said very slowly.

“I’ll clean it up later,” Harry said, feeling a bit defensive after having both girls unhappy with him. “Is breakfast ready?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said and her expression cleared. “I was just heading down there now.”

Breakfast was eggs and toast, something which Harry dug into ravenously. They spent the day decorating the top floors until Sirius pronounced it done. Soon after, Hermione disappeared somewhere and Harry ended up suffering through several rounds of wizarding chess before he gave up and watched Ron and Ginny play instead. 

The days slipped by at a relaxed pace and the six of them away from Hogwarts found themselves allowed to do nearly whatever they liked. When Christmas Day arrived, Harry woke to the sound of Celestina Warbeck belting out ‘Nothing Like a Holiday Spell’ from a floor below, and a pile of presents at the base of his bed. He sorted through his gifts, pulled on his sweater from Mrs. Weasley, and made for the kitchen. When he arrived downstairs, however, it wasn’t to a table full of Weasleys, but Mrs. Weasley’s muffled crying in the kitchen, Lupin’s voice a comforting murmur. 

Harry backed out into the hallway and crept up the stairs to bolt into Ron’s room. He wasn’t alone, Fred and George were there as well, dressed in lime-green jumpers. They looked up as he shut the door behind him, the three of them looking uncommonly serious for a Christmas morning.

“Judging by your face, Harry,” Fred said heavily, “You went downstairs, didn’t you?”

“Er–” Harry looked between the three of them. “Yeah, I did.”

George sighed loudly, leaning back on the bed. “It’s Percy, the great git. Sent his jumper back with no note about Dad, and nothing to say to Mum.”

“Poor Percy, having to rise above his family’s reputation,” Fred added darkly. 

“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “He was sending you letters just a few months ago.”

“Well we ignored them, didn’t we?” Ron snapped and slammed his fist into a pillow. Harry winced, finding a seat on an empty trunk in the corner of the room. “You’d think he’d at least like to visit. It’s Christmas.”

“If it’s not enough to get him to visit dad in the hospital, it certainly isn’t enough to get him to visit us,” George replied rather snappishly. “The great, bloody git.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t speak again, watching as Ron unwrapped his presents in silence.

“It’s probably safe now,” Fred said a few minutes later and they headed downstairs. Mrs. Weasley stood at the stove, her eyes still puffy and red from crying. Her ‘Merry Christmas’ was rather wobbly, something which had the four of them quickly escaping into the dining room away from. Hermione already sat inside, tucked into a chair with a book Harry recognized right away as it was the one he’d given her as a gift. Remus sat further down, a cup of tea steaming in his hands.

“Merry Christmas,” they said dutifully, not feeling much for laughter.

“Thanks for the gifts!” Hermione said, missing their moods entirely. “This book is really interesting Harry.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Harry replied as he sat down. “Your homework planner should be–er–useful.”

“It will!” Hermione beamed at him. “Anyways, did you hear? We’ll be visiting Mr. Weasley after lunch.”

“Finally,” George groused, sinking into a seat across from them. “We’ve been waiting to see him again all week.”

“The price of having the ministry watching us, I suppose,” Fred said downtrodden, though his eyes were glinting impishly. “That must be difficult for Percy–having his family be so undesirable.”

There was a small, wet gasp from the next room over, and Fred fell silent, his face leeching of color.

“Oh nice one,” Ron muttered under his breath. “She’ll be upset all day with you continuing on like that.”

“I didn’t know she was listening, now did I?” Fred hissed, leaning over the table toward him. 

“Molly, I have the turkey ready–what’s going on?” Sirius said upon entering the dining room. 

“It’s nothing,” Harry said quickly, standing up from his seat. “How about I help you bring food in?”

Sirius peered at them all very closely, though upon seeing Lupin at the end of the table, it lessened somewhat. “Well, alright, if you insist. There’s more in the pantry if you’d like to load up.”

Harry did just that, wanting to be away from the bad mood they all seemed to be in. Soon their Christmas feast was on the table. Turkey roast, whole cranberry sauce, pigs in a blanket, roasted vegetables, and a Christmas pudding for dessert. Mad-Eye and Mundungus showed up a little later to escort them to St. Mungos. Mr. Weasley looked better than when Harry had last seen him in the Ministry, but not by much. He escaped the room as soon as he could and ended up in a worse position when he ran into Neville who was visiting his parents. Dumbledore had told him about them, but hearing what had happened to them and seeing them were completely different matters.  
They departed from the hospital in much heavier spirits than they had arrived with, something that might have baffled Mrs. Weasley had she not felt the same. She and Mr. Weasley had gotten into a tiff over his muggle stitches, and apparently the conversation had not gone well. Once they were back at Grimmauld, Harry spent some time alone up in his room, staring bleary-eyed at the locket again. Something about it was bothering him. Something had changed and he had missed it entirely. Soon enough, however, Ron came and found him, luring him into a game of exploding snap and concern about the locket faded. 

As the days went by, Harry woke more often than not in the middle of the night, heart pounding, skin soaked with sweat. He dreamt of that strange corridor nearly every night, though this didn’t completely block out the visions of what Voldemort was doing. Voldemort seemed to be subsisting off of pure, unadulterated fury, something Harry always felt in the back of his mind, simmering beneath a snare of gleaming amber and heady magic. More than ever, Harry was glad he’d never told anyone he’d taken the locket, all those months before. It seemed to be the only thing that could help him now.

It was during the last week before they returned to Hogwarts when Harry was beginning to wish to be allowed outside again, that Mrs. Weasley called him into the kitchen. Snape stood there in the middle of the tile floor, sneering. Across from his professor stood Sirius, his arms crossed over his chest with a similar expression. 

“Hello Professor,” Harry said, coming to stand by his godfather, trying to keep his voice even with little success. The last person he wanted to talk to was Snape. “I heard you wanted to speak to me?”

Sirius scoffed from next to him as Snape stared at Harry, lips thinning with what could only be contempt.

“The headmaster has asked me to teach you the art of Occlumency this term, something you cannot reject if you’d like to keep your mind...free from entry.”

Too late for that, Harry thought derisively, and said, “What’s Occlumency then?”

Snape’s lip curled even further, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Occlumency is a branch of magic used to shield the mind from external penetration.”

“So you’ll be teaching me this–Occlumency thing at Hogwarts?” 

“Why is it that _you _must teach him? Why not Dumbledore?” Sirius growled, and Harry heard him shift his weight to another foot. 

“Dumbledore,” Snape said coolly. “Is a very busy man, and has far more important things to do than to teach one measly student an art he’d most likely fail at anyway.”

Harry’s face burned, his skin prickling with anger as he struggled to keep his mouth shut.

“My godson–”

“Your godson can barely pass potions, let alone learn something as delicate as the mind arts, but alas, we must try,” Snape said sleekly. “Now...Potter. Monday, six o'clock, my office. If anyone asks, you’ll be taking remedial potions, something no one would doubt if they’ve ever watched you attempt to brew before.”

Harry heard a strangled noise rise from Sirius’s throat and moved quickly to get between them. “I will Professor. Have a nice rest of your holidays.”

Snape only sneered, and with a flick of his robes, disappeared out into the hallway.

“Why did you have to do that?” Sirius said halfheartedly. “I rarely get entertainment in this damned house these days.”

“Because I don’t need you making it any worse,” Harry snapped, turning toward his godfather. “He hates me enough already, I don’t need you to give him one more reason to punish me.”

“Punish you? What’s he doing?” Sirius said, and his features sharpened, mouth curling into a snarl.

“Nothing,” Harry said with an exhausted sigh, “Which is exactly why I don’t want you attacking him. He’s only given me a few detentions this year, and I want it to stay that way.” 

“Fine,” Sirius grumbled, “I suppose you’re right.”

“Thanks though,” Harry said after a moment. “For wanting to stand up for me.”

“I’m your godfather,” Sirius said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Harry found himself grinning up at him before remembering Ron and his game of wizarding chess he’d left in the middle of. “I gotta get back before Ron comes up with another embarrassing way to beat me,” he said humorously, and Sirius’s face broke out into a smile.

“Good luck,” he called after him. “Not that I’m any better mind–never was any good at it myself.”

But when Harry arrived back in the living room, Ron had disappeared. So had Hermione and Ginny, who’d both been hanging around the room before. Harry ducked his head out into the hall and found the group huddled around the front door instead. 

“What’s going on?” Harry asked as he rushed over to them.

“Dad’s about home,” Ron said cheerfully. “Just arriving here now. What did Snape need you for?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Harry said quickly, and rose up onto his toes, trying to see over the taller crowd of Weasleys. A moment later the door swung open and Mr. Weasley appeared, a broad smile on his face as Mrs. Weasley gently nudged him indoors. 

“I’m cured!” he said joyfully and they piled onto him, Hermione and Harry hanging back with matching smiles.

“Not so much now,” Mrs. Weasley said anxiously. “You might aggravate his wounds.”

Mr. Weasley laughed, his arms drawing tighter around his four children. “I have no wounds to speak of, dear.”

Mrs. Weasley clucked her tongue, but said nothing, her face soft with such relief Harry felt strangely awkward looking at her. Instead, he turned his attention back toward the pile of Weasleys and felt very glad at that moment that for whatever reason, that he had seen through Nagini’s eyes that night. 

If he hadn’t, it would have been a very different Christmas. 

Later that night, Harry met with Ron and Hermione in Ron’s room, where he told them about the Occlumency lessons. Ron was suitably horrified, though Hermione only appeared curious, as though she wanted to run off and research it that very moment. 

“Well it’s good, isn’t it?” Hermione told them. “Occlumency sounds like it might solve your connection between you and Voldemort.”

“We’ve been looking for a solution for weeks and Snape has to come around and give it to us in the worst way possible,” Ron grumbled. “Harry’s going to be stuck in the same room with that git for hours alone, isn’t he?”

“He’s a professor,” Hermione said severely. “He can be professional.”

Harry scoffed and Ron did the same. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t earn a detention mouthing off.”

“Well you’ve gotten rather good at keeping it shut, with Umbridge and all,” Hermione said smartly, getting up from the bed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go look up something.” 

She left the two of them staring at one another in silence until her footsteps faded down the hallway.

“She’s mental,” Ron said after she was gone and patted Harry on the shoulder. “Helpful or not, being stuck with Snape teaching you is going to be awful, no doubt about it.”

“You could at least pretend it won’t be as bad as it is,” Harry said dryly, now feeling even worse about it than he had in the kitchen. “I think I’ll head to bed now.”

“You mean you _ don’t _ want to stick around and talk about having private lessons with our favorite professor?” Ron said with some delight. “All I can say is better you than me.”

“Yeah, that really cheers me up,” Harry said drolly. “Well anyway, I’m leaving now, you know, away from your snoring–”

“Oi!” Ron shouted and he chased him out the room. “I don’t snore!” 

Harry was laughing even as he ducked into the other bedroom, shutting the door to muffle Ron’s blustering. 

He mourned the idea of having to go back to his own bed in Gryffindor tower that night when he slipped into bed. It had nearly lost its old, musty scent after weeks of use and now he found its ability to allow him to completely stretch out the best thing about it. All he could think about while lying there with his eyes closed was the Occlumency lessons. His feelings on them were complicated. Certainly, he wanted the connection between him and Voldemort gone for good, but it was hard to be excited about spending more time with Snape, let alone in private lessons. 

Eventually, he fell asleep, but his dreams were far more disturbing than usual. A cold, narrow passage made of bone and ink gave way to thousands of crystal balls filled with yellowed eyes like a snake’s. The dream fell away to another as a man was speaking up to him, voice turning to outright panic when Harry’s calm mask faded into red-hot rage. 

There was a woman sitting across from him in a parlor room. Dressed in frumpy robes and a heavy-looking ginger wig, there was something fit snugly around her throat.

It was a locket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded cliffhanger has arrived haha  
Thanks for keeping with me, I know this has been a very slow build to this point! I'm so happy to have finally reached this part in the story to post, it's been sitting in a doc as a draft for like six months lol


	12. Chapter 12

There were two bright splotches painted on Lady Hepzibah’s face, as though her hand had been shaking when she applied rouge. Harry’s eyes didn’t stray from those sour-red dots as impatience curdled in his stomach. He was tired of playing this little game with her, with this old, lonely woman. His mouth turned upwards into a gentle smile. 

“Lady Hepzibah, I must apologize for visiting so soon after my last, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how we left it last. I must apologize for my behavior that day,” he said quietly. 

“Nonsense, you know that I’m always happy to see you,” Hepzibah said, and those bright splotches grew larger as her face flushed fuller. “No one but you truly understands my love of these old artifacts.”

“It is true that not many understand our business, but I dare not overstay my welcome.” 

Hepzibah stared at him as though lost in a daze, before snapping out of it in a rush. “Hokey! Hokey, bring in the cakes, will you?” As she turned, a glinting around her throat caught Harry’s attention. 

A house-elf crept into the room carrying a tray filled with little cakes. She set it on the table between them and bowed, disappearing back into the room she had come from. 

“Well,” Hepzibah said with a smile of her own, picking up one of the cakes and plopping it into her mouth. “I wonder what kind of excuse you had, coming here today? It can’t be that you only came here to apologize.”

“Do I need an excuse to come see such lovely company?”

“Oh you!” Hepzibah gushed, fanning her face. “Tell me, Tom, please. I’m dying to know.”

In a mirror across from him, Harry saw his eyes flash. He tilted his head downwards. “If you insist then I suppose I must tell you. I was wondering if I could see those two items you showed me towards the end of my last visit again. They were, if I may say so, quite stunning.” 

“How very forward of you,” Hepzibah said as a small, girlish giggle left her lips. “Hokey! The tea now.”

The house-elf once again appeared, this time with matching teacups. The woman took a small sip, before placing the teacup delicately back on the table. “You know they are my most prized possessions, Tom, my treasures. It took me years to find them.”

“I can imagine,” Harry said. His eyes didn’t leave the locket around her neck. “I don’t mean to overstep. I can leave if you’d like.”

“There’s no need for that,” Hepzibah said demurely as she fanned her face. “I don’t mean to send you away so soon. You must stay at least for tea.”

“I suppose I cannot go against your wishes,” Harry said. There was a funny little smile on his face, but she didn’t seem to notice. 

“Of course you can’t,” Hepzibah beamed at him. “We have so much to talk about, and, if you’d like, I _ could _ bring out my treasures at the end.” A moment later, she gave a little cough.

“Oh dear, are you alright?” Harry said pleasantly. He stood, moving slowly toward her as the coughing continued, wracking through her body.

“I’m fine,” Hepzibah gasped, clutching at her throat. “Hok–”

Harry struck, wand in hand as he silenced her. Hepzibah blinked as no sound came from her lips. She looked up. The woman was embarrassingly infatuated with him, but she wasn’t a fool. She reached for her wand by the table, but Harry smacked it away lazily. 

She died choking on her own blood. Harry stood there watching, waiting for her last breath. She slid off the couch in an attempt to escape, but she had been too old to get very far. Harry stepped over her cooling corpse after he was sure she was dead, and plucked the locket from her neck. He strode over to the mirror behind the couch to put it on, turning his head this way and that to admire it. It was in stunning condition, though he didn’t expect anything less from Hepzibah Smith. 

There was a crash. Harry turned to find the little house-elf trembling in the doorway. 

“What did you put in her tea, I wonder?” Harry said, voice sweet as sugar and the elf gasped wetly. 

“Oh, madam. What did old Hokey do?” The elf said, shaking as she fell on her boney knees.

“That’s right,” Harry said lightly. “What did poor old Hokey do?”

The elf groaned, shaking her head. “No, no. Hokey would never. Hokey is a good elf.”

He laughed richly with humor, before moving closer to where the elf stood, crying down at her mistress’s corpse. “It’s unfortunate you’re so old, Hokey. You mistook poison for sugar. All alone, in this big lonely house, your mistress couldn’t even raise her voice loud enough to call for help. What a tragedy.”

“My poor mistress,” the elf whimpered. “There was no one to hear her.”

“If only her dear friend Tom had been here,” Harry finished, a smile twisting his mouth. “But unfortunately he had his weekly visit a few days ago instead.”

The house-elf wailed and Harry left her there, moving into the room he had never been allowed access to. There, on the top shelf, laid the box Hepzibah had shown him on his last visit. He reached up and took it carefully down from where it gathered dust, opening up the lid to find the second artifact he had been looking for. He pulled the cup from its velvet bed and held it up to the light. Helga Hufflepuff’s cup shined a brilliant, glittering gold. He knew without a doubt that it was the real thing, and Harry placed it back in its box. Then he walked back into the sitting room, where the house-elf was still sobbing into the floor.

He left through the front door. There was no one to see him. No one cared about old Hepzibah Smith anymore, but soon she would be all over the papers. Her own murder by house-elf would be quite the show.

The locket was now his, as it always should have been if his ignorant mother hadn’t sold it for a pittance. The idea of her selling Slytherin’s locket for a few sickles had him numb with rage. He hated everything to do with her–dirt poor and magically weak, falling in love with _that _man. 

It was with this thought that Harry finally realized something was wrong. His mother had not died on the doorstep of an orphanage. She had never owned some long-lost, priceless artifact, and most of all, his name wasn’t Tom Riddle. 

Harry’s eyes opened to darkness and he laid there unmoving, staring up at the decrepit ceiling. The chain around his throat felt like a noose. His own locket–stolen from a corpse. 

His locket that had once belonged to Voldemort, made its way into 12 Grimmauld Place, and Harry had then picked it up and worn it like a fool.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t want to believe it. It was a truth that would wreck the carefully balanced peace he’d had for the past six months. He had ignored all the signs that something was odd about it, that it had been changing…he jumped from the bed and ripped the locket up and over his head, sending it skittering over the floor. 

He felt like a bucket of cold water was poured over his head. He had been so blind, so willing to ignore the strange occurrences that happened over the past months. Harry laughed outright in the dark room, thinking of what Ginny had said only a few days ago. He had been thankful to her, but she had been mistaken. Harry _was _being possessed, but not by Voldemort, not quite. 

His scar was throbbing. Without the locket, the connection in the back of his head burst open like a failing dam. Voldemort was raging about something not going exactly the way he wanted. He gritted his teeth and snagged a shirt off the floor, picking up the locket and shutting it away into an empty wardrobe. His hands began to shake as he headed to shower.

Once he reached the bathroom, he hurried out of his clothes and stepped under the hot spray. His skin was crawling, there was a lump in his throat and his stomach was rolling. He tried to desperately come up with an answer while under the hot water, but he couldn’t think with Voldemort’s sudden presence in the back of his head, loud and piercing. 

The table was packed when Harry entered the dining room, and the person he wished to see was nowhere to be found. He greeted Ron and Hermione thoughtlessly and took a seat next to them. He moved his porridge around, not eating, eyes trained on the door. His scar was pulsating with pain now and Voldemort’s voice rattled around loudly in Harry’s brain. A thrill shot through him when he heard footsteps come thundering down the stairs. Ginny walked through the door a few moments later, bleary-eyed. Harry shot up out of his chair. He had to be sure.

“Ginny, can I talk to you for a minute?” Harry said and his voice somehow didn’t betray the sheer terror he was feeling. “It would be really quick, I swear.”

“Does it have to be now?” Ginny said, gazing at the table stuffed with food longingly.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry said with an increasingly strained smile. 

Ginny sighed, though she followed him out the door without another word. They walked down the hallway and ducked into one of the many unused rooms.

“So, what is it?” she said, itching at something on her arm.

For a moment Harry couldn’t speak and stared silently at her instead, the words hanging hollowly in his throat. She looked up at him.

“What did it feel like to be possessed by the diary?” Harry finally asked. Sweat gathered on his neck and hairline. He was beginning to feel sick.

“Is this about the snake?” Ginny said, and something fierce crossed her face. “Fred and George better not be giving you trouble.”

“No, it’s not that exactly,” Harry said, trailing off. “If you don’t feel comfortable talking about it–”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that no one ever wants to talk about it with me,” Ginny said slowly. “It’s like they’re worried bringing it up will permanently harm me or some rubbish like that.”

“Oh,” Harry said, a bit dimly. 

She leaned against the wall as her arms crossed over her chest. “It was awful. I realized that my friend who had been comforting me for months was trying to kill people by using me to do it. He pulled me away from my family and my friends. All I wanted to do was write in that damn diary all the time.” 

Harry’s hands clenched into fists. It was so easy for Riddle to kill and steal and use people for his own gain, and now Harry was trapped, much like she had been. 

“But you know,” Ginny was saying. “He taught me things. Looking back, I don’t think he could help it.”

“What?” Harry said and his head shot up. “What kind of things?”

“Magic,” Ginny breathed. “I had brilliant grades in first year, did you know that? Isn’t that ridiculous?”

Harry stared at her. He had expected the conversation might hurt her, or bring back painful memories, but he had been desperate. There was a funny feeling he had when looking at her now. She didn’t look distressed, she looked...off. 

“He was teaching you magic?” Harry said slowly.

“I think he was bored, stuck in that diary for fifty years,” Ginny said, shaking her head as she moved closer to him. “Then I came along and finally he had something to do. Some of the spells I know, Harry…”

“Do you ever use these spells?” Harry said wearily, eyes not leaving her. 

Ginny abruptly leaned back. “Of course not.”

“I see,” Harry said. He hesitated to ask more, but he needed answers. “Do you remember what it felt like, actually being possessed?”

“I suppose...I had big gaps in my memory. I’d lose hours and wake someplace else, not knowing what I had been doing before.” 

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. It sounded familiar, much too familiar for Harry’s liking. 

“I’ve read a lot on possession,” Ginny said a moment later, “After you know, all of it. Nothing in those books were like this. He wasn’t just _possessing_ my body. It was as though he was replacing me, like at the end of it Ginny Weasley wouldn’t exist anymore. Possession doesn’t work like that, so–”

“It’s different,” Harry finished for her. “He was creating a new body using yours as...materials.”

Ginny shuddered. “You can’t say anything,” she said, her voice going sharply cold. “I mean it.”

“Believe me, Ginny, I won’t say a word,” Harry said, backing slightly away from her. “Thank you, that was very–helpful.” 

With that, Harry escaped out into the hallway and back up the stairs to his room, his mind racing. His skull felt as though it were being cracked open. Even in the early summer, before he had found the locket, the pain had never been this bad. It was beginning to occur to him that the locket had both soothed the worst of the connection, and gradually split it further open, waiting for the day Harry realized what it was and tried to throw it away. He needed the locket now just as badly as he always did. Knowing what it was didn’t change that. 

Harry slammed the door behind him and stood panting in the middle of the bedroom, sweat trickling down his neck, the wardrobe a dark outline in front of him. He thought of Tom Riddle’s words in that dream. _ I want us to come to an understanding. _It hadn’t been a dream, not really. Somehow Harry had stepped into _his _world. Harry turned on his heel and left the room to head back downstairs again. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, not yet.

When he returned to the dining room only Ron and Ginny remained at the table.

“There you are,” Ron greeted with his mouth full, waving his fork at him. “Hermione’s in the library wanting to talk to you.”

“There’s a library in here?” Harry said unthinkingly. 

“Of course there is,” Ron said. “Where do you think she’s been running off to every night?”

“Oh,” Harry said dully, stilling in the doorway. “How do you know about it?”

Ron wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and got up from the table. “We cleaned a room near it before you got here. Mum had to all but drag Hermione out of it. She didn’t approve of her reading the stuff in there.” 

“And she approves of it now?” Ginny said slyly. “Or did Hermione sneak her way in? How very wicked of her.” There was no strange note in her voice anymore. 

“Don’t say it like that,” Ron said irritably. “It’s because of everything else happening right now, Mum isn’t paying too close attention to what we’re doing. Anyway, I’ll bring you up there Harry, but don’t expect me to stay.” 

Ron took his plate into the kitchen and returned to where Harry was still standing. 

“It’s up the stairs,” Ron said, jabbing his thumb toward the upper floors.

Harry stepped out of the way and followed his friend down the corridor and up the staircase. 

“Did she say what she wanted to talk to me about?” Harry said once they reached the third floor, scratching uncomfortably at his neck. 

“‘Reckon it’s about what you told us last night,” Ron said and eyed Harry’s hand. “You get bitten by something?”

“What?” Harry said, his fingers freezing mid scratch. “No, it’s nothing.” He lowered his hand stiffly to his side. His gaze snapped back to Ron. “Wait, what do you mean by what I said last night?”

“About Snape and the Occlumency lessons?” Ron stopped still in the hall. “You sure you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said quickly. The conversation they had the night before now seemed so far away. His thoughts were consumed with his pain in his scar, Voldemort’s voice on full blast in his mind, and the locket, hidden up in the wardrobe. Snape seemed like the last of his worries.

“Well anyway,” Ron said, shaking his head as he began to move again. “I bet it’s about that.” 

“Maybe she figured out a way for me not to have to take lessons from Snape,” Harry said weakly, hurrying his pace to match his friend’s. 

Ron scoffed as they rounded the corner. “Bloody unlikely if you ask me. There’s a better chance of her finding a way to join _ you _instead.” 

A startled laugh escaped Harry’s lips. “You’re probably right about that. Merlin, wouldn’t Snape love that?”

“Wouldn’t Snape love what?” A voice called from a room at the end of the hallway.

“If you joined Harry’s private lessons,” Ron called back. “You know, since you’re all but salivating over the idea of this Occlumency stuff.”

They reached the doorway. It was a wide, circular room with a ceiling that seemed to stretch far past any of the other rooms in the house. The bookshelves lining the walls were packed with books. 

“Hilarious,” Hermione retorted from a couch that stood in the middle of the room. There was a stack of books sitting on the armrest next to her.

“I had no idea this was in here,” Harry said, eyes trailing along the walls. “So this is where you’ve been going after dinner.”

“I mean, sure,” Hermione said, and there was a defensive note in her voice. “It’s not all dark magic though, believe me. For one I found a first edition of–”

“Well, I’ve brought Harry to you, so now I’ll just go,” Ron said hastily, cutting her off.

Hermione sighed as Ron all but ran from the room, before padding the seat next to her. “He hates it in here, says it creeps him out. Which is ridiculous. Anyway, I’ve found surprisingly little about Occlumency, but there are still a few books on it here.”

“Er, okay,” Harry said as he took a seat across from her. His head was hurting enough now that the only place he wanted to be was up in his room, facedown on his bed. “What did you learn then?”

“It’s a really fascinating branch of magic. Honestly, I’m feeling a bit jealous I can’t join your lessons,” Hermione said animatedly. “What I find most interesting though, is that it has a corresponding branch of magic called Legilimency, which allows for one practiced in the art to read the thoughts of others. Well, it does a whole lot of other stuff, but that’s the gist of it.”

Harry’s stomach twisted up. It had been Legilimency. All those times Voldemort had dug around in someone else’s head until they could only spout gibberish, all this time he had thought it was some strange, awful gift he had, but it turned out it was something people could learn instead. 

“Occlumency can keep someone out of your head, right?” Harry demanded, heartbeat spiking. 

Hermione gazed at him with some concern. “I guess so, but you would have to get really good at it. From what I can understand, Occlumency is as much a defensive art as Legilimency is an offensive one.”

“Do you think if I got really good at it though, that I could block off the connection between Voldemort and I?” 

“I don’t know that for sure, Harry,” she said somewhat helplessly. “But isn’t that the reason Professor Snape is teaching you?”

A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Do you think Snape knows Legilimency?”

Hermione clearly hesitated. “I think so. One of the common ways to learn Occlumency is to have someone who knows Legilimency enter your mind so there’s a good chance that Professor Snape is a Legilimens.”

Harry leapt out of his seat. “Merlin, that’s how he _always _knew. Every time we so much as thought–”

“It’s illegal to use it that way, Harry,” Hermione said exasperated. “You may dislike him personally, but he is still a professor.”

“Oh, like that would stop him,” Harry said heatedly.

“_Anyway_,” Hermione said, cutting him off. “As I was saying, Occlumency has all sorts of uses too. A powerful Occlumens can resist truth spells and even Veritaserum. The book also states that an accomplished Occlumens can fake memories. If someone is using legilimency on them, they can change or completely make up new images to trick the Legilimens who's viewing them.”

Harry stopped pacing. “That could be useful,” he said grudgingly. 

“Right?” Hermione said. She shifted in her seat. “Here, take this one. I found it very informative.” She handed a book to him titled _ Occlumency: A Guide to Protecting Your Mind From Invasion_. 

Harry took a seat again and flipped open the book. Voldemort was speaking to a man with a voice that almost seemed familiar. 

He was a page in when a burst of anger erupted out of their connection and Harry’s hand shot to his forehead, grimacing. The voices were louder now and it was all but impossible to focus. Even a few minutes of this made him feel as if he were going mad. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione said across from him.

“Fine,” Harry said, gritting his teeth. His eyes crawled over the page without seeing anything as his vision blurred. He rubbed his forehead vigorously, not that this eased any of the pain. 

_ “My lord please, I never meant to fail you–” _

Harry groaned outright, nearly dropping the book on to the floor as he clutched his head. 

“Should I go get Sirius or Mrs. Weasley?” Hermione said, having also abandoned her own reading. “Really, there’s no reason for you to suffer like this without telling anyone.”

“There’s nothing they can do,” Harry snapped, closing his eyes. “There would be no point to it.”

“I haven’t seen you look so terrible in months,” Hermione said cautiously. “Is this because you saved Mr. Weasley?”

Harry laughed, a wet, painful sound. “If only, Hermione.” He opened his eyes and raised his head to meet her gaze. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Hermione said. “What is it?”

“It’s–” Harry stopped almost immediately. He couldn’t do it. The idea of giving up the locket filled him with a desperation that was bordering on insanity. “Nevermind.”

Hermione sighed, going back to reading. “Fine.”

Harry stared at her. “Fine? That’s it?”

“Getting the truth from you is like pulling teeth,” Hermione said without inflection. “If you ever feel like telling me, then feel free, but it’s not worth getting upset with you over anymore.”

“Oh,” Harry said quietly. Her words hurt more than he'd like to admit. 

Hermione sighed, closing her book. “I don’t mean it like that. I just mean if you don’t want to share these things with me, then that’s fine. Everyone has secrets, and I suppose I shouldn’t be bothering you about yours.”

“I see,” Harry said, his voice a bit stiff as he rubbed his forehead. He went back to reading, not knowing what else to do. The voices weren’t getting any quieter, and he was sure of it now. It was Wormtail speaking to Voldemort, whining pathetically for his life. 

It was difficult to get anything out of what he was reading, but one thing was clear. Occlumency was his only way out of this. If he could get good enough at it to block the connection, there would be no pain or voices or emotions that weren’t his. He wouldn’t need the locket then. 

He dozed off sometime before lunch and slept until dinner. When he woke, Hermione was still sitting across from him. The brief relief from his nap disappeared immediately upon opening his eyes. His scar was hot to the touch and his head was pounding. 

He groaned, rolling onto his feet. “I don’t think I’ve eaten anything today,” he said and started for the door.

“Okay, I know what I said before, but really Harry, I’m worried about you,” Hermione said in a hurry, following after him as though she had been waiting for him to wake. “How often do you skip meals, exactly?”

He turned toward her, wavering in the doorway. “I don’t know,” Harry said warily. “When my scar hurts badly enough, I guess.”

Her eyebrows squeezed together. “Why has it been so bad today? Usually, it doesn’t hurt so much, right?”

“I just–” Harry started, not knowing what to say. “I guess I just wanted to see how bad the pain would be if I sort of...let it be.”

Hermione sent him a look. “That went well, I see.”

Harry grimaced. “Yeah well, I just needed to do it, okay?”

“Well, okay, but perhaps whatever you’ve been doing, you should go back to it,” Hermione said. It was clear she found the idea ludicrous. 

A laugh burst from Harry’s throat. The idea of what Hermione was unintentionally suggesting was enough for him to briefly forget the pain. 

“I’m just saying,” Hermione said crossly as they walked down the corridor. “Whatever you’re doing before was working, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry said. They were silent going down the stairs. 

Dinner tasted like ash in his mouth. He barely made it through while hiding how much pain he was in, before returning to his bedroom. 

The wardrobe stood in front of him again. He hesitated for a moment before sliding open the top drawer. The locket laid inside as he had left it that morning, wrapped in one of his old shirts. He took it out gingerly and carried it over to his bed, where he placed it down onto the quilt. 

He couldn’t look at it without thinking of old Hepzibah, blood streaming out of her nose and mouth, eyes completely bloodshot. He didn’t even know her, but this locket was the cause of her death, and now Harry had it.

_ I want us to come to an understanding, Harry_.

Harry cringed, but pulled the shirt away and dropped it on the floor. He stared at the locket for a few minutes as useless thoughts ran circles around his head. Even now it felt as though someone was pressing hot iron into his skull and the jagged thoughts from Voldemort all but living in his brain. There was no way for Harry to be certain that Occlumency would fix this. If he gave the locket up now and Occlumency didn’t work, would he have to live like this forever? 

Harry stood over his bed for a long time, staring down at the locket. There was no resolution he could think of, no quick fix for this insanity other than what was right in front of him. He felt helpless; he had played right into what the locket wanted. 

Slowly, unwillingly, Harry picked up the locket and lowered it over his head. It fell into the crook of his neck and then slid lower, where it had stayed for the past six months. The relief was immediate, but it only served to make Harry feel much worse. 

He laid down carefully in his bed but he found himself unable to sleep. His enemy had a tight grip on his neck and there was nothing Harry could do about it. He had chosen this. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been awhile. Had this chapter sitting finished and mostly edited for several months, but a few things had me really stuck on how I wanted to fix them until now. Glad I figured it out finally so I could post it!

Harry slept little that night, locket or not. The very thought of wearing it sickened him but he had no alternative. When light began to peek through the windows, Harry gave up on the idea of sleep and started onto the massive chore of packing. Clothes, textbooks, bits of this and that had scattered across the room over the break. 

He stuffed the last of his clothes into his trunk as the smell of breakfast began to waft up the stairs. When Harry carried his trunk down to the first floor, he found Sirius waiting for him on the bottom steps. Harry’s eyes slid over him uneasily. There was so much Harry wanted to say to his godfather, but the words felt impossible to voice now. 

“‘Morning, Sirius,” he said. 

“You ready to head back to Hogwarts?” 

“Just about.”

Silence lingered between them. Harry knew Sirius didn’t want him to leave, though he would never say it. 

“I have something for you,” Sirius said gruffly, handing over something tucked under his arm. “Here.”

It was thin, heavier than he expected and wrapped in brown packaging. Harry turned it over with his fingers. “Can I open it?”

“Go ahead,” Sirius said, shifting his weight to his other foot. “It’s not a secret.”

Harry ripped away the wrapping to unveil an old, antique mirror. He blinked. 

Sirius laughed, an increasingly rare sound found inside Grimmauld Place. ”I suppose you wouldn’t know what it is, huh? It’s a two-way mirror. The twin is up in my room at the moment. Just say my name into your mirror and you’ll appear in mine. I figured since we can’t use owls or the floo network this is the next best thing.”

The mirror in his hands suddenly felt infinitely more precious. “That’s brilliant!” Harry said. “And you really don’t mind–”

“You can contact me anytime, Harry,” Sirius said, eyes crinkling. “Really. I have nothing going on anyway. Just keep it out of eyesight as I doubt Molly would approve. She seems set on keeping you kids out of this war.” 

“I know she’s worried, but I’m already involved, aren’t I?” Harry said, voice betraying his bitterness. 

Sirius sighed. “I won’t lie to you, Harry, he’ll be after you until one of you is dead. Don’t waste the little peace we have left wishing for war, you’ll be missing it soon enough. I certainly did last time.” Sirius’s gaze fell to the floor. “Safe inside Hogwarts, the war felt so far away. What fools we all were.”

It wasn’t difficult to guess what his godfather meant. 

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” he said softly. 

Sirius looked up, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. “Oh, don’t say that. It’s no one’s fault we were so young then.” 

Harry laughed, a dull sound that ricocheted down the hallway. “You know, no one’s actually said that out loud to me before. He’ll be after me until one of us dies.” 

His godfather’s shoulders sagged, the smile fading from his mouth. 

“I should not have said that,” Sirius said quietly. 

Harry covered the mirror back up in its packaging and placed it into his trunk, thoughts beginning to twist uncomfortably around in his skull. 

“It’s not a secret,” he said at last, turning his eyes back to Sirius. “Voldemort announces it nearly every time we’re in the same room together.” 

“Nonetheless, I shouldn’t be saying these things to you. To anyone, really. It’s better to have hope in this wretched house, not my morbid ramblings.” Something flashed across Sirius’s face and he shook his head. “I’ll miss you, kid.”

“I’ll miss you too, Padfoot,” Harry said, letting a phony grin mellow his features. 

“If you ever want to get back at that toad with some old tricks, let me know. I’m sure I could hustle up a prank or two you could use.”

“You’re a terrible influence. Do you want me in detention polishing trophies until the year is out?”

“I _ am _your godfather,” Sirius said sagely. 

Harry laughed despite everything. “If I get that desperate I’ll let you know.”

Sirius ruffled his hair. “Be safe, Harry,” he said and started down the hallway. Harry stared after him. There was an ache where his heart lay. Harry knew the man like he barely understood who his parents had been, but he didn’t want to leave him. 

“Ready to go?” A voice called from down the hall and Harry turned to find Hermione ducking her head out from the dining room. 

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Better than Ron then. I don’t think he had started packing before this morning,” she said dryly, jabbing a finger toward the stairs. “He’s up there now, scurrying around before his mum finds out.”

“Of course he is,” Harry said, neglecting to tell her that he hadn’t started packing before this morning either. 

“Are you packed?” he said, striding toward her. 

“My trunk is already in the hall,” she said with a nod toward the front door. “Mrs. Weasley just told me that we’re leaving straight after breakfast on the Knight Bus.”

“What about the train?” Harry asked her as he took a seat at the table. “Did she say why?”

“Safety, I suppose,” Hermione told him as he began to eat. “They’re worried the train may be attacked on the way back.”

“Oh.”

“You seem to be feeling a bit better,” Hermione said. “Since yesterday, I mean.”

Harry paused mid-bite. “Yeah,” he said vaguely, and jerked his attention back to his food. They didn’t speak again until they were all standing out in the hall, trunks in hand as they were being shuffled out the door. 

“Take care, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, wrapping her arms around him. 

“You too, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, struggling not to wriggle out of her grasp. The pang he felt earlier had returned. Reluctance towards returning to Hogwarts was something he had never felt before. 

“Be careful,” Mr. Weasley said gently, as Tonks began to hurry them along. 

“I will,” Harry croaked, voice wobbling a little.

A loud bang had him turning his head, and by the time he looked back, the door and the Weasleys were gone. 

“Onto the bus, now,” Remus said, gently pushing him forward onto the Knight Bus. 

The trip back to Hogwarts was over before he knew it. Once they had all gotten off the bus at Hogsmeade with their luggage, their goodbyes to Remus and Tonks were even shorter, and they were alone again. 

“Half of a year left to go,” Ron said halfheartedly as they started up the hill to Hogwarts. “Do you think Umbridge has passed any more educational decrees?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Harry said without any luster. “I’m sick of being here and we haven’t even arrived yet.”

Ron sighed gustily. “I don’t want to be back here either.”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Hermione snapped. She gave her trunk a good yank.

“Like you don’t feel the same way,” Ron said, pointing toward her tight grip on her luggage. “Just be honest for a moment; do you really want to be here with Umbridge?”

“Of course not, but she’s just one professor and our education is important,” Hermione said and pushed past them. “I’m going up to the dorms.”

Harry and Ron watched her go. “I think she’s way more anxious about this than she lets on,” Ron said quietly after she disappeared over a ridge. “We may not care, but her OWLS grading is important to her.”

“I know,” Harry said in a low voice. “She didn’t have to get angry at us though.”

“You don’t have to snap at us so much either,” Ron said, looking straight at him. 

“Right–sorry,” Harry said, looking away. 

“We just need to be patient with each other,” Ron said as he shook his head. Unexpected laughter leaked from Harry’s mouth. “Who are you?”

The comment earned him an elbow to his ribs. “I can be mature too, you know. We’re all growing up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said. “Should have known that prefect badge would turn you into a snob or something.”

Ron broke out into laughter. “Oi! It’s a bit barmy though, isn’t it? We only have two years to go and then this is over.”

The words sobered him up. “I’d have to actually live till then to graduate,” Harry said, no longer smiling. 

“Don’t think like that. Just focus on the good things.”

“Oh sure,” Harry said derisively, “The good things. What are these _ good things_, exactly?”

Ron groaned. “C’mon, let’s just get up to the dorms.” 

They unpacked their trunks once they made it to Gryffindor tower and settled in as the other students trickled into the common room. Seamus greeted him cheerfully and asked Ron if Mr. Weasley was doing alright. Most of the first years seemed to no longer stared at him as though he were about to turn around and curse them. Hermione reappeared at dinner as though nothing was wrong, and Malfoy noisily announced that Harry must have been given preferential treatment since he hadn’t seen him on the train. Though some things had changed, Hogwarts was still much the same as he had left it. 

The next night marked his first Occlumency lesson. When Harry trudged down to the dungeons after dinner, Snape was waiting for him in his office. He had been dreading it all day, and the constant interruptions from D.A. members asking when the next meeting was going to be hadn’t helped. Voldemort had been...oddly quiet since he had arrived at Hogwarts, as though he was intentionally trying to keep him out. What that meant, Harry had no idea, but he was sure it was nothing good. 

“At least you aren’t late,” Snape said, lip curling contemptuously as Harry shut the door behind him.

“Hello, Professor,” Harry said gloomily. 

Snape continued to sneer as he waved his hand over his desk, to which Harry took a seat in front of.

“I suppose I must introduce you to the topic again, as I doubt you’ve retained anything since we met last,” Snape said coldly. “The Headmaster has insisted that you learn Occlumency, but I do not feel optimistic in this regard.”

Harry folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve been reading about it.”

“Have you now? I rather doubt that, Potter, though perhaps your muggle-born friend has read about Occlumency for you.”

“I did read about it,” Harry snapped, and then added reluctantly, “Sir.”

Snape looked as though he was contemplating responding to Harry’s scornful tone or not. “Go on then,” The man said, eyes glittering with disdain. “Tell me what _ you _ know.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “It’s main use is to combat Legilimency, as Occlumency if used correctly can keep a Legilimens out of one’s head.” 

“A rather rudimentary explanation, but correct nonetheless,” Snape said slowly as a spark of suspicion crossed over his face. “But knowledge of such magic and being able to use it is a completely different matter.”

His fists clenched under the desk. “I understand why these lessons are important. I don’t want to be in...his head.”

This retort seemed only to cause more suspicion. “I’m surprised,” Snape drawled. “I’d expect you would like to keep these visions. I imagine they make you feel rather important.”

“I don’t enjoy watching him kill people,” Harry said coolly. 

Snape went still. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Harry said after a moment when the other man didn’t speak. “I’m glad I was able to save Mr. Weasley, and I never would have been able to do that without the connection, but the rest of it isn’t worth it. His mind isn’t exactly a nice place to be in.” 

“Enough,” Snape spit out. “I’m not here to listen to you whine. The Dark Lord is one of the most talented Legilimens of this age. I don’t expect you to get anywhere close to his–”

“Then why bother teaching me?” Harry said furiously. “If you think it’s hopeless–”

“Be _silent_,” Snape snapped. “The headmaster has commanded me to teach you so I will. Now, as I have said before, Occlumency is magic to keep your mind and thoughts safe from external intrusion–”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Harry demanded suddenly, leaning forward in his seat. “Voldemort doesn’t need to _try _to get into my head, and I don’t either. It just happens.”

“You will not interrupt me further,” Snape said. His gaze centered on Harry’s face. “It is curious, though. You haven’t been telling people the whole truth, have you?”

“The truth, sir?” 

“This isn’t one or two occasional dreams. You’ve been in the Dark Lord’s mind far more than that,” Snape said, gripping the edge of his desk. “Don’t lie to me, Potter.”

“I’m not lying to you,” Harry said, voice growing heated. 

“Don’t bother,” Snape said dangerously. “Your attempts at lying are pathetic at best. Tell the truth this instant.”

Harry’s mind raced. There was nowhere for him to go, and truly no reason to lie except for pure disdain of the man. Once that might have kept Harry lying out of sheer spite, but not now. “I dream of him sometimes. Often.”

“The specifics, Potter.”

“Just–” Harry broke off as his frustration grew. “Most nights, I suppose.”

“What are these dreams like?” 

“Why does it matter? Don’t you already know all about this?”

“You are holding something back,” Snape said coldly. “Speak.”

Harry looked away. “Sometimes when I’m not asleep, I can hear things. Not for long though, just moments, flickers.” 

“What can you hear?”

“Usually just his voice,” Harry said defensively. “It’s not important.”

“If you believe that you’re a fool,” Snape spat. “Evidently you do not understand the situation you’re in. From the information we had before this, it seemed that the connection between you and the Dark Lord only opened when you were at your most vulnerable, when you were unconscious or sleeping. If the connection opens when you’re wide awake, what do you think that means?”

“It wasn’t this bad before he resurrected,” Harry said tightly. “Look, are you going to teach me Occlumency or not?”

“That’s sir to you, Potter. So like your father, always demanding things you have no right–”

“I’m sorry, sir.” 

“Don’t interrupt me,” Snape snarled. “It’s time I teach you how to use Occlumency properly. Stand up and take out your wand.” 

Harry rose out of his chair stiffly, reaching into his pocket for his wand. 

“Keep your mind clear. Think of nothing, do you understand?” Snape said. “Do not give me anything to work with. When I manage to get past that first barrier, you must repel me from your mind. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Harry said bitterly. The idea of emptying his mind felt like an impossible task. 

Snape pointed his wand at him. “_Legilimens_.”

Suddenly, Harry was sitting on the train with Ron swapping chocolate frog cards...Dudley was stomping on something of his, his friends jeering...there was something in a pile of junk... 

Pain shot through his skull as his eyesight blurred. There was a burning sensation around his neck. When he opened his eyes, Snape was staring at him from across the table, nostrils flared.

“Not bad.”

Something heavy settled in his gut as he stared across the table toward his professor. He hadn’t done anything at all.

“You will try again. Prepare yourself,” Snape told him. “_Legilimens_.”

Harry had no time to brace himself before he could feel Snape lurching through his mind like oil in water. An enormous snake’s head passed by as he hid against the damp surface of a tunnel...Cedric Diggory was grinning, telling him something important...a dog was barking underneath the tree he was trapped in…

Harry sighed, blocking out everything but the sound of his breathing. When he opened his eyes again, Snape was standing still against his desk, face gone white. 

“Potter,” Snape said slowly, “You may have a talent in this after all.”

But Harry wasn’t doing anything, not really. There was _something _in the back of his mind that didn’t belong there, something that wanted Snape out more than it wanted to hide. The thought chilled Harry to the bone. “Are you going to try again?”

“You can leave now. Come back on Wednesday.”

Harry jolted out of his chair and escaped out into the corridor. The locket felt like metal left out in the sun for too long. It took all his strength not to yell until he was farther away where he braced himself against the stone wall, waiting for the pain to leave him. When it eased somewhat, Harry gingerly pulled the locket out from under his shirt, hissing as it stung his fingertips. He raised it to his lips. All Harry had to do was whisper _open _in snake tongue. It would all be over then, this uncertainty. No matter what happened next, all of it would be over. 

Slowly, he lowered the locket away from his mouth and hid it back under his shirt. Not yet. 

* * *

Ten of Voldemort’s followers escaped Azkaban that night, though Harry knew this even before the morning paper arrived. He could still taste the flecks of blood that had landed on his lips, the screams of the few human guards left to fight as the dementors let him pass, unmoving and silent as he released his lost followers one after another. Voldemort’s blind delirium was as painful as his anger was, and his head throbbed until lunchtime. 

After classes finished, Harry hurried back to the dorm and rummaged through his things to find the two-way mirror. 

“_Sirius_,” Harry whispered as he sank onto his bed. A quick jab with his wand sent the curtains around him to swish shut. His face stared back up at him, jaw tight, mouth a thin line. 

“Sirius,” he called again, louder this time. At once his face disappeared, and Harry was met with a strange, shadowy blur over the glass. Then he was looking toward a familiar style of wallpaper. 

There was a sound of muted footsteps, before the creak of a door opening as his godfather came into view. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised, seeing you so soon,” Sirius greeted him. “I suppose this is about the breakout?”

Harry could only nod, his throat tightening. Sirius disappeared for a moment as he picked up the mirror in his arms. There were flashes of a red and gold banner, a broken mirror over a wardrobe, and then Sirius again as he took a seat by a desk.

“It’s starting then,” Harry said. “He’s not playing around anymore.”

Sirius ran a hand over his scalp. “You shouldn't have to worry about this right now.”

“Of course I do,” Harry said impatiently. “I spent all of last night watching him break them out. He killed eight guards. He let one of them torture the last guard to death. Do you know what that’s like?”

Sirius’s expression twisted for an instant, as though he was struggling with something. “Unfortunately I do, Harry,” his godfather said quietly. “I may not understand how it feels to be in _ his _ head, but that sort of violence...it was common back then.”

The fight left Harry in an instant, leaving him to feel bleak and cold. “I thought you said you weren’t going to talk to me about this sort of thing.”

“That was before You-Know-Who released the very worst of that lot,” Sirius said wearily. Harry watched as he leaned against the back of his chair. “I was there for twelve years and the prison cells there are close. Like it or not, I know them rather well. I know what they are capable of.” His voice softened as he spoke again. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

“You can’t tell me anything important,” Harry suddenly spoke up, clasping the mirror tighter. “I mean, I’m not asking you to tell me anything about what..._ you know_. If I can get into his head so easily, doesn’t that mean it’s the same for him?”

“I’ve never heard of a connection between two people like yours, and I’ve read some–well, I bet you know what kinds of things are in this house,” Sirius said. Harry flinched without thinking. 

“If you need someone to talk to, Harry, that’s what I’m here for,” Sirius said earnestly. 

For a moment, Harry thought about telling him, ripping the locket from his neck and confessing to all of it. 

“The others may not agree with me, but I think it does you a disservice to pretend as though we have it all under control. I think you would know better than us on that account,” Sirius said when he didn’t speak. 

“You were only two years older than I am now when you joined the order, weren’t you?” Harry asked instead. 

His godfather blinked. “I suppose we were.” 

“Do you think my parents would have lived if they had stayed out of it?” 

It was his godfather’s turn to cringe, as though he had taken a hit. “Harry…” he began. 

“I don’t think they would have,” Harry said, looking away from the mirror. “I think it was always going to turn out like this.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Aren’t prophecies always like that?” Harry said distantly, gaze sliding back to meet his godfather’s shocked expression. 

“Where did you hear that?” Sirius demanded, tone turning harsher. His face grew closer to the mirror.

His mouth parted. “Heard what?” Harry said, leaning back. “What did I say?”

His godfather looked as though he had seen a ghost. 

“Sirius?” Harry said. There was a faint buzzing in his ears. 

“Nevermind,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “How have the first days back been like?”

“Miserable,” Harry said slowly, still looking at the way Sirius was holding himself, like an animal caught in a trap. “Not that I expected it to be any different.”

“I used to love the return trip back to Hogwarts. Away from my family at last,” Sirius replied, and the strange expression on his face eased somewhat. 

“I know the feeling,” Harry said. Sirius let out a gruff laugh. 

“I regret going after that rat every day,” he said quietly. “If I hadn’t, I could have–”

Footsteps sounded outside the door to the dorm. 

“We’ll talk later,” Harry said in a rush, throwing open the curtains and stuffing the mirror back into his trunk. He picked up a book from the side table near his bed and opened to a random page as he sat back down on his bed. A moment later, a face appeared in the door. 

“There you are, Harry. We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Ron exclaimed. “I told Hermione I’d come to check up here but I didn’t think you’d actually be up here reading.”

Tension seeped out of his limbs. “Merlin’s beard, I thought you were someone else,” Harry said gloomily, dropping the book onto his bed. 

“Well hustle it up, already,” Ron said impatiently, waving a hand toward the door. 

“What’s the hurry?” Harry said, reluctantly getting up from his bed. “I was talking to Padfoot about the breakout so it better be important.”

“He sent you a letter?” 

“No, he gave me a two-way mirror before we left.”

“Blimey, really?” Ron burst out, eyes going wide. “Those are extremely rare, you know.”

“I’d expect them to be popular considering how useful they are.”

“They were, once,” Ron replied thoughtfully. “I heard that during the war many of them were shattered so they couldn’t be used to send secret information.”

“Yet another thing Voldemort has ruined,” Harry said. He stopped at the door. “Anyway, what did you want?”

Ron visibly fidgeted. “Well, you know, it’s about your lesson. When you didn’t appear afterward we figured you just went to bed. If you don’t want to tell us about it though, that’s okay.”

“Oh,” Harry said blankly. With the breakout, he hadn’t thought at all about his Occlumency lesson. “I don’t mind telling you guys. Where’s Hermione then?” 

“She got distracted in the common room. Fred and George are up to their usual habits again. She doesn’t appreciate them using firsties as test subjects,” Ron said, making a face.

They found Hermione down in the common room, her face spotty with frustration. There was a younger Gryffindor heaving into a trash bin and Harry watched as Fred stuck a brightly colored candy into the puking first years’ hand as they passed him.

“Should stop the puking,” Fred whispered. 

“It’s been nice seeing you, Hermione,” George called as he inched toward the stairs.

“Yeah, it’s been so long. Two wonderful days in fact,” Fred added. Both of them disappeared upstairs into the dorms, passing Ron and him on the way.

“You’re a prefect, Ron. You’re supposed to help me,” Hermione said, gritting her teeth as Harry stepped off from the staircase. Ron was right behind him. 

“You sent me off to find Harry,” he said, baffled. “I can’t be two places at once.”

“You’re unbelievable, honestly,” she muttered, and dragged them both out of the common room. 

Where are we going exactly?” Harry asked her once they had reached the moving staircases without any clear direction. 

“The library first,” Hermione said, looking as though she was lost in thought. “I need to pick up a book there for my Ancient Runes class.”

“Er, alright,” Harry said. “I suppose I can just wait outside.”

Her face fell. “Drat, I’d forgotten about that. I can do it some other time.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said. “I don’t mind.”

“You still haven’t found those books yet?” Ron said as they reached the first floor. 

“I doubt I ever will,” Harry said. “Honestly, I’m just hoping Pince will forget about it next year.”

“Maybe you should go to Professor McGonagall?” Hermione said. “She might be able to help sort it out.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Harry said quickly. He couldn’t shake the idea that it hadn’t been another student pretending to be him at all, but his own body wandering around without him. If a professor found that out, they would take the locket away. 

“If you’re sure,” Hermione replied with a soft sigh. “Honestly, you’re so stubborn…”

He and Ron stood outside while Hermione hurried busily around the library. She returned to them a few minutes later, a book stuffed under her arm. 

“Let’s go find somewhere more private to talk,” she said and they followed after her back up the corridor to the stairs. 

“This should work,” Hermione said as they walked down a corridor a few flights up. She took out her wand and carefully pressed it against one of the doors lining the hall. _“Alohomora_.” The door unlocked with a quiet click, and she pressed it open, disappearing inside it. 

“So what was it like?” Ron immediately asked once they had all entered the room. 

“Painful,” Harry replied and his friend winced.

“Did he use Legilimency on you?” Hermione said, placing her book down onto an empty desk. 

“He did.”

“Wait, what’s this Legilimency thing?” Ron said, sending a doubtful look toward Hermione. “I thought it was Occlumency you’re learning.”

“Mind reading,” Hermione said succinctly. “So what did it feel like?”

“Like someone was trying to get into my head, what else?” Harry replied. 

“Now hang on a minute,” Ron said, his voice filled with alarm. “Mind reading? No one said anything about that.”

“Then maybe you should have stuck around with us in the library longer,” Hermione said crossly, before turning her attention back to Harry. “What did he have you do to try and stop his Legilimency?”

“Er,” Harry started, looking between the two of them. “He just said to clear my mind, whatever that means.”

Hermione stilled. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s not very helpful. Perhaps there was more to it but you weren't paying attention?”

“I’m pretty sure that was all he had to offer,” Harry said, heat souring his voice. “He cast _legilimens _twice on me then sent me back to the dorms. I’m supposed to go back on Wednesday.”

Hermione bit her lip. “That’s...disappointing.”

“You’re telling me,” Harry muttered under his breath. 

“Can we go back to that first bit?” Ron demanded. “You’re telling me that Snape knows _mind reading_? Does that mean–”

“Yes.”

“No,” Ron said, shaking his head. “Tell me you’re pulling my leg, here.”

“He really has always known when we’ve been up to something,” Harry replied gloomily.

“He’s a professor of this school,” Hermione said, her voice turning exasperated. “He can’t use legilimency on students.”

“As if that would stop him,” Ron said, outraged. “Bloody hell. This is a nightmare.”

“Oh please,” Hermione groaned, tucking her book back under her arm. “I’m going back to the common room to study.” 

“To think our own thoughts aren’t even safe,” Ron grumbled as they also left the classroom. 

Harry sighed. “At least you don’t have him rummaging through your head purposely twice a week.”

“Unlucky, mate.”

When they made it back to the common room, Harry turned toward his friend, who still seemed horrified by his newfound knowledge. “I’m going to bed. I’m too tired to come up with lies for Divination tonight.”

“You’ve seemed tired a lot lately. You sure you’re alright?” Ron asked, suddenly staring straight at him. 

A thrill shot down his spine, and Harry looked away. “I’m fine.”

Harry’s gaze moved to his hand where _ I must not tell lies _used to be written into his skin. All he seemed to do nowadays was lie to them. 

“Goodnight, then,” Ron said, and he nodded back before heading up the stairs.

Harry attempted to clear his mind that night, but it was impossible with his thoughts running in every direction. The locket, the breakout and the deceit filled his head instead. He wasn’t really sure what Snape meant by that, anyway. 

The next morning, Harry opened his eyes to a corridor lit with sunlight. He blinked slowly, looking down at his feet. He was already dressed in his school robes and his backpack was hanging over his shoulder. There was a stack of unfamiliar books held in his arms. On the top-most book laid a small piece of parchment. Written in small, elegant print, was the word _sorry_. 


	14. Chapter 14

The library entrance was only a few steps away, but Harry didn’t move an inch. His arms trembled as he held the stack of books, face pale as a sheet as he stood still in the middle of the corridor. He must have looked daft. The locket could have marched his body into the library and returned the books that had caused him so much trouble over the past months, but it hadn’t. It had parked his body right outside the door with a one-word note Harry didn’t understand. It _wanted _ Harry to know that it had taken control of his body before. It wanted Harry to know that it could do it again.

Harry’s gaze stuttered between the spines of the books. 

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, the air leaving his lungs. One of them was on basic history and the other centered on the war. The third was on magical bonds made through sacrifice, soul-binding, and dark magic. He licked his lips as the world began to spin. This was the book that had Madam Pince out for blood. 

“Do you mind?” 

Harry turned his head toward the voice. It was a Hufflepuff girl carrying a heavy-looking bag. Without thinking, he moved toward the door. 

“Sorry,” said Harry and took the last step inside the library. It had been months since he had been allowed in. He hastily stuffed the note into his bag and moved toward Madam Pince’s desk, where she stood sorting books. Harry watched as her eyes narrowed when she found him in front of her a few moments later. 

“Mr. Potter,” she said, and he watched as her attention settled on the books he was holding. “I trust those are what you’ve had checked out since the beginning of term?” 

He sat them down gingerly on the desk. “Yes. I’m sorry for–for taking so long to return them.” 

She sniffed. “I expect so.” 

Harry took a deep breath. “Right well, thanks,” he said, and turned away from her, striding back to the entrance before she could get a word in. His hands were shaking, but the pockets in his robes hid it well. 

“You look awful, mate,” Ron told him as he took a seat next to him in the Great Hall. 

“Do I?” Harry said, staring down at his empty plate. He had no appetite and suspected that would last most of the day. 

“Thought you went to bed early.”

“I must have woken up too early for it to matter,” Harry said tightly. 

“You were gone before any of us had woken up yet. Where did you go?”

Harry barked out a stale laugh. “I was returning books.” 

“What, you found them? Where were they?” Ron said, looking up with wide eyes. 

“Dunno really.” 

Ron let out a gusty sigh. “At least you’re no longer banned from the library anymore. That was starting to get old fast.” 

“You’re telling me,” Harry muttered, and stood up from the bench. “Gonna head to Divination.” 

Ron swore. “Merlin’s beard, did you do the homework this morning? I forgot to do it last night.”

“No,” Harry said, but the consequences of not doing Divination homework seemed so small compared to the note tucked inside his bag. “I’ll make something up once we get there.”

“We _have _to get better at this,” his friend said, groaning. “Wait for me, I’ll come too.”

Something slapped into his hands before he could move. Harry looked up to find Hermione standing in front of him. 

“Eat that before you go,” she said firmly, nudging his hand closer to his face. It was a slice of plain bread. Ron laughed outright. 

“What’s that about?” he said, trading looks between the two of them. 

Hermione’s eyes didn’t leave him. “You look terrible.”

“That’s what everyone’s saying,” Harry replied. Reluctantly he took a bite, making a face as he chewed the dry, flavorless piece of bread. He finished it off in a few gulps. “Happy?”

“Very,” Hermione said. “You found the books then? Where were they?”

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Whoever took them out in my name must have had a guilty conscience or something. They were on my desk this morning.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?” Hermione said. “Which makes me wonder why you look like you’ve been through hell.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said irritably. A few heads turned toward them from down the table. They were being too loud. “I just had bad dreams, alright?”

Hermione released a deep breath. “Okay. Enjoy Divination.” She marched off toward the door without looking back at them. Anxiety curled in his gut. 

“Merlin’s socks, what was that all about?” Ron said from next to him. “That was odd even for her.” 

“Dunno,” Harry said, watching her disappear out into the hallway. “I’m thinking of skiving off classes.” 

“Absolutely not,” he heard Ron say. “You can’t leave me alone in Divination.” 

Harry’s heart was racing. Hermione knew something. Maybe not about the locket but _something_.

“Are we going to class now or what?” Ron said, jerking him back to reality as his friend bumped his arm. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry said. He adjusted his grip on his bag. “Let’s get going before I really decide to skip.” 

His Occlumency lesson that night seemed so far away, but his classes felt like they were over in an instant. Halfway through dinner, Harry finally remembered what day it was, too lost in his own head. 

“I have to go,” Harry said, jumping up from the bench and lurching toward the doors. He rushed as fast as he could down to the dungeons, but Snape was already waiting in his office.

“You’re late,” said Snape coldly as Harry swung the door shut. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, and nearly laughed, a crackling, humorless sound. The word seemed to have been haunting him all day. 

His professor rose from his chair. “There’s no point in delaying this any longer. Wand out.”

“I don’t think I’m up to the task tonight,” Harry said, shoulders stiffening. “Could we do this another time?”

“Do you think the dark lord would wait on you because you’re having a bad day?” Snape said contemptuously. “Wand. Out.” 

Harry dropped his bag onto the chair across from him, pulling his wand out from one of the pockets. 

“Brace yourself,” Snape said. “_Legilimens_.”

He had no time to prepare before Snape began rummaging through his head, pressure building up behind his eyes. He groaned as images began to flash by. He was sitting on the swingset down the road, staring up at the clouds...Lady Hepzibah beamed at him from across that horrid pink loveseat...he was looking down a table filled with familiar faces before their youth had left them…his followers…

Harry gasped for air, rubbing his temples as the ache refused to go away. Over the desk, Snape stood frozen, nostrils flared and his wand trembling in his hand. 

“What was that.” It wasn’t a question, not really. 

“Were you there, Professor?” Harry said, jaw clenched as he attempted to ease some of the pain. He all but sagged into the chair behind him. “Seemed like your crowd.” 

“Be quiet,” Snape snapped and Harry closed his mouth. There was something dangerous hidden in his professor’s gaze. Slowly, Snape sank into the chair behind the desk. “That was not something you saw through the connection recently. It was something from another time.” 

“Beginning of the first war.”

“Don’t be difficult, Potter,” said Snape, closing his eyes for a moment. “Tell me why that memory is inside your head.” 

“I probably dreamed of it.” 

“Did I not tell you in our last lesson what deviations like this meant?” Snape said quietly. “Did I not stress it enough to you–”

“You said nothing to me about this,” Harry interrupted, fingertips tapping on the armrest. 

“Use ‘Sir’ or ‘Professor’ when speaking to me, Potter,” Snape said with a sneer. He stood up, walking a few lengths in front of the wall. “Have you dreamed of his past before?”

His neck burned, but Harry ignored it. “It isn’t the first time.” 

Snape stopped and stared down at him wordlessly as if he were in such a state of rage he couldn't speak. 

“You _stupid boy_,” Snape finally spit out. “Why have you not told anyone about this? Surely you realize–” He broke off, shaking his head. “You are him in these dreams, are you not?”

“You saw it for yourself, sir.” 

“Watch your tone,” Snape said coolly. “Why do you think you’re able to access these memories?” 

“How should I know?” Harry said, heat staining his voice. “Look, does it even matter? You’re teaching me occlumency right now, not debating Voldemort’s history.”

“Do not say that name in front of me,” Snape said, baring his teeth. “Despite what you may think, Potter, I take no pleasure in being inside that adolescent, hormone-driven brain of yours.”

Harry rolled his head back against the chair. “Can I leave then?”

“You certainly may not,” Snape said harshly. “Get up. I will test your defenses again.”

Reluctantly, Harry rose from his seat, wand held loosely in his hand. 

“Try harder this round. You barely put up a fight.”

“You didn’t give me any time–”

“The Dark Lord won’t give you any time,” Snape snapped. “_Legilimens_.”

Harry choked on his words as images flew past behind his eyelids. His headache grew stronger as Snape tore through what little attempts Harry tried to stop him with, dullness growing into searing, red hot pain. Hermione had her arms around him, hugging him tightly...a snitch circled lazily in front of him...a red-haired woman screamed, a flash of green…

“OUT!” Harry snarled. 

Snape crashed into his chair, collapsing into it with an expression Harry could only describe as revulsion. “How could you possibly remember that?” 

“If you’re talking about my mum, it’s because of the dementors,” Harry said coldly. “Not that you’d care of course. You’re always going on about my dad–”

Snape’s expression hardened. “Get out,” he said icily. “Leave, before I do something I regret.”

Harry stood, sending the chair screeching across the floor. He strode out of the office without a backward glance, rage building up beneath his skin. 

When he arrived back at Gryffindor tower, he went straight up to the dorm, ignoring Ron’s attempts to get his attention. Ripping the locket out of where it lay hidden under his robes, Harry stared at it, breathing hard. It was poisoning his life. 

* * *

He had to master Occlumency. Harry had no choice now. A clock was ticking down and if he wasn’t fast enough, the locket would win. It was easier to think of it like that, a simple cursed object that he needed to abandon, but Harry knew better. If it was anything like the dairy, it wasn’t mindless the way other cursed things he learned about in Defence were like. It was Tom Riddle. Voldemort. It wanted something from him. 

He had no way of knowing if or when it might take his body for a spin again. He didn’t know what it wanted, or where it went when it was possessing him. He breathed anxiety as if it were air, and with that day ending disastrously as it had, Harry had forgotten about the way Hermione had been watching him throughout class, lunch and dinner. She didn’t relent the next day, nor the one after. Somehow, she had picked up on something, and the added pressure from her didn’t help him one bit. It was as though he had eyes on him at all times, through her, through the locket, and through Snape, who seemed equally as repulsed as he was refusing _not _to look at him.

It all came to head on Sunday night after they gathered for their first D.A meeting back at Hogwarts. Harry knew he looked terrible, dark bruises under his eyes, clothes wrinkled, hair wild from him not bothering to tame it that morning. His interest in attempting to teach the group anything that night sputtered and barely stayed alight. It was a relief when it ended and most of them trickled out of the Room of Requirement without lingering. 

“Thank Merlin,” Harry said, relaxing his shoulders when all but his two friends remained. “Let’s get back to the common room.”

“Wait, Harry,” Hermione said and caught his arm just as he was about to leave the room. “I want to talk to you.”

“Can’t this wait?” Ron complained. “I have my dream-book entry still to do tonight.” 

Hermione took a deep breath. “Alone.”

Both boys turned to look at her. Ron’s foot hovered outside the door. 

“Well,” Ron said awkwardly. “I’ll just go on ahead.”

“Wait–” Harry started, but his friend already disappeared out into the corridor. He braced himself as he looked back at Hermione. Before he even had a chance to open his mouth, she spoke.

“I saw you.” 

Something about her words had his gut churning. “Saw what, exactly?”

Hermione never took her eyes off him. “That morning, when you returned those books. You told us at breakfast that you found them on your desk, that whoever took them must have felt guilty about it.”

“Yes?” Harry said uneasily. 

“It’s funny then, that you told me quite differently before breakfast.”

Harry felt every inch of his body freeze. “What?” 

Hermione took a step closer. Harry noticed that her wand was in her hand. “I had woken up early to do some light reading for Ancient Runes, so I was in the common room before the sun had even come up. It was deserted really, so I saw every person that went up and down those stairs. At half-past six, _ you _ came down those stairs, Harry.”

It felt as though the breath was knocked out of him. “I was just–”

“Don’t bother,” Hermione said fiercely, and her wand rose to point at the center of his chest. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? You don’t remember a single word either of us said. I doubt you remember anything from that morning, actually. Tell me what is going on with you.”

Her voice echoed in the empty chamber. Goosebumps erupted over Harry’s flesh as the locket’s chain suddenly burned into his skin like a brand. Her voice faded as though it were underwater. It all went blank. 

Harry woke up in the dark. Something heavy lay on top of him, and he struggled desperately without understanding why. His fingertips touched softness. It was his blankets, and he was lying in his own bed. The thought did not ease his panic, though he stopped moving. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dark. There was a piece of parchment laying on his stomach. Harry shuddered, hand fumbling around in the dark as he looked for both his glasses and his wand. He found both. Trembling, he pushed his glasses onto his nose and held his wand up to the parchment. “_Lumos_.”

_ My mistake. Everything is now as it was. _

Harry dropped his wand in shock and it rolled down his bedspread, the light spinning in circles around his drawn curtains. He dragged his hands down his face, eyes not leaving the written words, though without the light he could barely make them out. His hand met his neck and he shook with fear as his fingers wrapped around the locket. It was there, warmer than ever, as though it were alive. He trembled, unmoving for a while. 

“What do you want?” Harry croaked, his voice quiet as a mouse. Of course, no one answered. His grip loosened on the locket and he wriggled out from underneath the blankets, grabbing his wand from the end of his bed. The light had already gone out. If he had hurt Hermione, surely he wouldn’t be lying in here asleep. Surely…

Quietly, Harry rose from his bed and tiptoed over to his trunk. It was open a crack from when he had been looking for something earlier in the day. He reached in and felt around for that silvery, sleek cloth that belonged to the invisibility cloak. 

“What are you doing?” Ron whispered from behind him. Harry nearly jumped, arm banging into the top of the trunk. The two of them both cringed, but it didn’t seem to wake anyone else up.

“Bloody hell, you scared me,” Harry hissed. With some relief, his fingertips finally found a silky texture. He pulled the cloak out of his trunk as Ron shrugged.

“You scared me, scrambling around your bed like that. What’s going on?” Ron’s face fell. “You aren’t sneaking out with Hermione, are you?”

“What?” Harry whispered back. “No, of course not.”

Ron crossed his arms over his chest. “Then what was with all the secrecy earlier tonight? Neither of you were talking about it when you guys finally showed up in the common room.”

Harry’s lips parted as a chill seeped over his skin. The locket was thudding over his chest like it was his own heartbeat. “She was–she was scolding me,” he gasped out. The words didn’t feel like his own. “I wasn’t exactly at my best tonight.”

Ron gave him an odd look, but put a hand on his back. “It’s rough having to plan D.A, huh?”

“Yes,” Harry managed to say, a lump growing in his throat. 

Ron looked as though he were in deep thought for a moment. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” He whispered.

Ron sent him a half-grin. “You’ll see.” He made a small motion. “May I?”

Harry glanced down at the cloak in his hand and wordlessly tossed it over them both.

“Right,” Ron whispered. “Let’s get out of here without being caught.” 

Though they were both under the cloak and had to walk in tandem, Harry felt as though he was only following Ron in a daze. Down the stairs, into the common room, out into the corridor, down the halls to the moving staircases...it was a blur he could barely keep up with. His mind was still back in the dorm room where that note lay on his bed, taunting him. 

“Where are we going?” 

“It will be worth the wait, don’t worry,” Ron replied. “We’re going up this staircase now.” 

Harry stopped mid-stride. A spiral staircase was set into the end of the corridor. “Are we going up to one of the towers?”

Ron simply nudged him forward. 

It was dark at the top of the tower and icy cold. The wind whipped at the cloak and Harry held on to it before it could disappear over the side into the night. 

“Look over there,” Ron said, pointing toward a vague shadow set into the grounds. 

“The lake?” Harry asked and his friend nodded. He peered closer. The ice dulled the reflection of the night sky. It was an eerie sight.

“Well, I suppose it is pretty,” Harry said after a moment.

Ron guffawed. “It’s way better when it isn’t covered in snow and ice,” he said, carefully sitting down against one of the pillars. He patted the floor. Harry hesitated before joining him. 

“Have you been up here before?” 

“Fred and George took me up here once in first year,” said Ron. There was a fondness in his voice. “I was feeling homesick, so they took me up here when the sun was beginning to rise on the lake. It was brilliant.” 

Harry felt himself smile. “Did it help?”

“Well,” Ron said, turning to meet his gaze. “Not really.”

Harry laughed outright before it faded in the cold, dark tower, and both of them were silent again. 

“It just seemed like you needed to get out of there,” Ron said. “You looked…”

Harry didn’t speak. If he did, the words that would tumble from his mouth could never be taken back. 

“I’m scared too, you know,” said Ron quietly. “It feels like there's something sitting on top of my chest that never goes away.” 

“The breakout made it worse." 

Ron only nodded, drawing the cloak around them closer. Harry tilted his head back and looked up at the sky. 

“I feel as though I’m scared all the time.” 

“Do you think other people feel this way?” 

“I think so,” replied Harry bleakly. 

Ron laughed, a bleak sound that disappeared in the wind. “I remember when I was eleven, riding the train here for the first time. I never expected You-Know-Who to be alive still. A second war? Not even on my mind.”

“We were children.”

“Yeah, but,” Ron said stilted, struggling with his words. “I was only excited to learn magic. It was such a simple dream.”

“I think I was looking for a place to belong,” Harry said. “A home.”

Ron bumped his shoulder, going quiet. For a long time, they looked out over the castle grounds buried in snow, and didn’t say a word until dawn came. 

Classes were brutal. By dinnertime, both Ron and Harry were lagging behind Hermione on the way to the Great Hall, barely able to keep their eyes open. 

“I cannot believe the two of you snuck out last night _without me_,” she said, her voice full of complaints as they moved through the corridor. 

“Well the next time we go have a heart to heart in the middle of the night, we’ll be sure to shout your name at the bottom of the steps, Hermione,” Ron said with a wide yawn. “It’s not as if we could simply go into your dorm room and invite you.”

“Not to mention going up to one of the towers–did you even bring the right clothes to wear? I bet you were freezing,” Hermione carried on, as though she hadn’t heard him. 

“We were freezing,” Harry mumbled, not looking at her. It was as though her suspicion had disappeared entirely overnight, and the guilt was eating away at him. She looked as healthy as she always had, but that meant nothing. He had no way of knowing what the locket had done to her. 

“Fools, the both of you,” she said briskly.

Ron exchanged a look with him and he only shrugged back. 

“It’s not as though we–”

“Potter.” 

Harry turned at the sound of the voice. Snape stood at the corner down to the dungeons. 

“Remedial potions, my office. Now.” The man turned on his heel and began down the hall without waiting for his answer. Harry stood still for a moment before Hermione nudged him. 

“Did you forget you had a lesson tonight?” she said doubtfully.

“We didn’t have a lesson scheduled,” said Harry, beginning to trot after his professor. “I guess I’ll see you two afterward.” 

Inside the office, Snape made an inpatient motion towards the chair. Harry sat, but the man didn’t speak for some time. Harry was itching the back of his neck when he finally spoke.

“In your reading,” Snape said with a sneer etched into his face, “Did you ever come across anything on how legilimency works?”

“Not really.” 

“I will be teaching you rudimentary Legilimency. Professor Dumbledore would not approve, so you will not be telling anyone, not even that mutt of yours. Understood?”

“What?” Harry said, eyes narrowing toward him. “Why?”

“_Understood? _”

“I understand,” Harry said, gnashing his teeth. 

Snape took a seat behind his desk. “Normally someone your age should never be messing around with the mind arts at all. It is why Professor Dumbledore would never allow this.” 

“Then why teach me?” 

“Because it is necessary,” said Snape with a sigh. “Truthfully, when it comes to the connection between you and the Dark Lord, I do not think Occlumency will help you. Not anymore.” 

“But Legilimency would?”

“You’ve said it yourself, Potter,” Snape said. “You’re already in his head.” 

“Oh,” Harry replied, blinking. 

“You get stuck in his mind, his memories, his emotions. Occlumency won’t help you then, but Legilimency might get you out. It will help you recognize that what you're feeling or seeing isn't yours.” 

“I still need Occlumency to keep him out though, don’t I?”

“This isn't one or the other. We will be switching between the two until you get them both down." Harry didn’t recognize the emotion splayed on the man’s face. 

“The easiest way to learn Legilimency, much like Occlumency, is to have someone to cast it on,” Snape continued slowly. “All you must do to cast it is to point your wand at me and say _legilimens_. Suggest something to me, memories, emotions, or what you’re hoping to find. Theoretically, if you get good enough at this, you can find the connection in your own mind, and _cut it off_.”

“Using Occlumency.”

“Yes.”

Harry stood up carefully. “Right,” he said and exhaled. “I’ll do it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took longer than I expected to finish! I also wrote a few chapters after this (which leaves me to edit them all ha h a). Classes have started back up for me which means less time for writing, so I don't know when I'll be able to post next, but in the meantime just know that I have the chapter they finally meet in written already. Getting close! :)


	15. Chapter 15

Harry picked up Legilimency distressingly fast. The more complicated aspects of it were beyond him, but by the end of January, he could get past Snape’s first shields. It was insignificant compared to what a Legilimens master could do, but it was startling for what a fifth-year student could pick up in a few short weeks. 

“Don’t get arrogant, you’re meant to get past my first shields,” Snape told him during their latest session. “Keeping someone like the headmaster or the Dark Lord out completely is impossible, so instead you let them in. Then you show them what _ you _ want them to see, not what they want.” 

“It’s not as like I have shields in the first place, though,” Harry muttered as he shifted in his chair. His ears were ringing. Hours of trading between Occlumency and Legilimency practice wasn’t without a cost.

“You’ve shown little to no talent for Occlumency and that is a very dangerous thing for you,” said Snape mercilessly.

“I know, sir.” 

“If you ever got caught using legilimency...I don’t think I need to tell you what the ministry will do to you.”

Harry merely gritted his teeth. Azkaban was a possibility he did not want to think about.

“You need to practice harder. Abandon that defense group of yours and perhaps you’ll have time for more important things.”

He struggled not to react further. So many of his secrets had been stripped away in recent weeks. Snape seemed to enjoy holding the D.A. above his head like a threat, but so far he hadn’t turned them in. His lessons continued, and his Occlumency never improved. The clock was ticking down. Harry was running out of time. 

Snape suddenly stiffened out of the corner of his eye. “What was that?”

“What was what?” 

“Just now,” Snape began slowly. “You successfully hid something from me.”

Comprehension bloomed in his mind. The locket was still protecting itself. 

“It’s not as though I have a pensive of my own,” Harry said doggedly, thoughts racing. “There are some things I don’t wish to share with anyone.”

Snape scoffed. “I see. Trust a teenager to blindly succeed only when it suits them.”

“I don’t know how I’m doing it,” he said and clenched his jaw. 

“Then learn from it,” Snape said snidely, leaning forward over his desk. “It is remarkable to me how little effort you put into this. I thought you said you wanted to improve.”

Harry barely kept himself from saying something he’d regret. “I do.”

“Then focus on those shields and build them up from there. Don’t just hide a few embarrassing memories, hide it all.” 

Harry took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. He had never dared touch the shields the locket used to hide with. It was a dangerous, unpredictable _parasite_. Pretending he didn’t know it was there was easier, but slowly...Harry reached for them. It was as though there was a blank curtain of fog blocking off a bit of his mind.

“It feels nothing like your shields.”

“I should hope not,” said Snape, his voice going flat. He sounded offended by the very idea.

Carefully, Harry’s breathing slowed. He imagined that wall of fog to hide his thoughts. Snape’s nostrils flared. 

“Like smoke,” he said. “Curious.”

“Is it working?” 

Snape sneered. “Now that you’ve lost focus, of course not. But before...for an instant, your mind was hidden.”

“So I did it finally?” Harry said, eyes widening in disbelief. 

Snape’s lip curled. “Don’t get too excited, Potter. You have a long way to go. Try again.” 

Harry tried again, and then again as the hours slipped by. It felt as though he had stolen his ability rather than gaining it on his own, but he found it difficult to care. The ability to hold Occlumency shields up permanently, even if they were weak, meant he could be rid of _it_. 

“I’ll test your shields before you leave,” Snape said as the clock ticked closer to their session being over. 

“I can barely keep them up already,” Harry said, but he wasn’t really complaining. It had taken weeks but he had finally done it. 

“The more you practice, the better chance you have against the Dark Lord, pitiful as it might be,” Snape said, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Do you think I could ever keep him out if he was actively trying to get into my mind?” 

“Do I?” Snape said with a curl of his lip. “Of course not. Professor Dumbledore has his hopes, however.”

Harry tilted his head back, staring up at the cobwebbed ceiling. “Because Voldemort is unmatched in the mind arts.”

Snape’s body flinched at the sound of the name. “That’s right,” he said coldly. 

Harry nearly laughed, but he knew it wouldn’t be a pleasant sound. He had dreamed enough of Voldemort’s youth to know some of the things the man had done were beyond imagining, mind arts being one of them. 

“Well, prepare yourself,” Snape said impatiently. He stood up from his desk. 

Harry hesitated, unmoving in his seat.

“What is it?” Snape said with a great sigh. 

“Is it possible to change someone else’s memories using Legilimency?”

Snape all but glowered at him. “I shudder to think about what you actually learn in defense class. There are memory modifying charms, yes.”

“No, not those,” said Harry quickly. “Voldemort–”

“Do not say his name,” Snape snapped, cutting his words off. 

“The _ Dark Lord _then,” Harry snarled back. “He used to be much, much stronger, didn’t he?”

Snape didn’t speak for a moment. “What makes you say that?” He said slowly. 

“He used to be able to do things–make people do what he wanted them to do before he even had a wand, before he even went to Hogwarts.”

Snape looked distinctly unsettled. “You dream of this, then?”

Harry shrugged half-heartedly, not meeting his eyes. “He could make someone forget what they were seeing right in front of their eyes, make them experience something completely different than the truth. But he wasn’t using his wand for that. Even while in his head I don’t understand how he did it.”

“He was never able to do that.”

“Maybe not later on, but in his youth,” Harry broke off, jaw clenching. The mere thought of it terrified him more than he’d like to admit. “Perhaps you simply don’t remember him using it because he didn’t want you to know about it.”

Snape’s expression went dark. “I don’t like your tone, Potter.”

Harry leaned his head back against the chair. “It’s a horrifying thought, sir, isn’t it?”

For a full minute, Snape didn’t speak. Harry began to fidget with the arm of his robes. “You have moments when you remind me of another,” Snape said finally, voice flat. 

“My father?” Harry said in an equally blank voice. He’d heard it so many times before, Snape’s insults had begun to go stale. 

“No, Potter,” Snape said evenly. 

Harry’s fingers stopped moving. He met the man’s gaze. “I’m nothing like him.”

“Oh, how the headmaster wishes that were true,” Snape said, expression going taunt. “Get out.”

“What?” 

“Out,” Snape said coolly. “I don’t want to see your face until next class.”

Harry stood, feeling as though all his nerves were on fire. The sensation followed him all the way up to the Gryffindor common room, where he found Hermione sitting by the fireplace, Crookshanks curled up in her lap. The sight soothed him somewhat, but Snape’s words still sharply echoed around in his brain. 

“Oh, you’re back,” Hermione said when she caught sight of him. “How’d it go?”

“It was fine,” Harry muttered, coming to a stop before her. “I’m improving.”

“Well improvement is good. Ron just came back from quidditch practice a few minutes before you. He looked, well, you know.”

Sudden bitterness welled up inside him. It was easy to complain about all the early morning practices until he was banned from flying at all. It had been months since he had last been on a broom. He wished he could be up there now, away from _you remind me of him_. 

“I know you miss it,” Hermione said softly when he didn’t speak. 

“It’s probably better I don’t have to worry about practice too, though,” Harry said, not looking at her. 

“It made you happy, so I don’t think that’s true,” Hermione said simply. As usual, she got right to the heart of it. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead. “I’m going up, night, ‘Mione.”

He didn’t wait for a response but left for the stairs. Occlumency lessons always left him in a worse mood than he had started with, and Snape’s words...he didn’t want to think about them anymore.

The mounds of snow outside began to melt as February settled in. A few days before Valentine’s Day, Harry took off the locket for a few minutes and found himself alone in his own head. Voldemort’s voice, his thoughts, his feelings...none of them were coming through the connection. His Occlumency shields were holding true. Harry had no need of the locket now, but he wasn’t going to hurry to get rid of it. He needed to be careful. He needed to be sure. 

His plans were changing. Once he had thought to hand it over to one of his professors, but it didn’t feel like enough now. Basilisk venom had destroyed the diary, so it would destroy the locket too. It felt fitting to destroy it himself. He only needed to pick a date. 

Harry woke on the last Friday of February to a note on his bed that simply read _don’t be difficult_. The threat rang in his ears for hours afterward, but the sight also made him more certain of his decision, and it carried him all the way through classes to nighttime, when he had a D.A. meeting to host. He was running out of time. 

Umbridge and Filtch’s attempts to catch the D.A. had grown more desperate since break had ended. More than once Harry or one of the other D.A. members spotted the caretaker skulking about on the higher floors, hoping to spot any illicit behavior. As though reacting to this new threat, the Room of Requirement’s door had begun to reposition itself along the corridor so it was never in quite the same spot as it had been the meeting before. It helped immensely in keeping the room a secret, but that wouldn’t last. He knew they would have to be more careful the more power Umbridge gained within Hogwarts. 

When Harry created the room that night for their meeting, it was a bit different than usual. Gone were the rows and rows of bookshelves filled with books on defensive magic, encyclopedias on magical creatures, and healing charms. They had been replaced by older replicates, half-burnt, spilled on, and looking as though they might collapse at any time. The shelves were nearly barren, with only a few copies of shabby, unrepairable books left. No chairs or desks stood in the room, having been cleared out entirely. Most importantly, however, was the new dueling strip set into the flooring in the middle of the room. The sight of it immediately had people whispering excitedly to each other as Harry waited for the rest of the D.A. to arrive. 

“I’m sure all of you are probably wondering about the dueling strip,” said Harry with a twitch of his lips when everyone had safely joined them. 

“We’re finally dueling?” Colin Creevy piped up excitedly. Muffled laughter moved through the crowd. 

“Not exactly,” Harry said and raised his hands up when a few people groaned. “Look, we can’t just be throwing around any spells we want at one another in here. We don’t have a healer, and we can’t be sending a bunch of you to Madam Pomfrey for no good reason. It’s going to have rules.”

“But we _ are _ dueling?”

“Yes, we’re dueling,” Hermione said with some exasperation beside him. “But rules first. No destructive spells, nothing that could blow someone’s limbs off. We may have practiced _ Bombarda_, but we won’t be using it. _ Incarcerous, Locomotor Wibbly, Titillando _ are fine, and defensive spells such as _ Protego _are also allowed.”

“You can also summon any objects in this room to block spells as well,” Harry added. He waved his hand toward the bookshelves lining the sides of the room. “They’ve been cleared of their usual inventory. The books and things left on there are ruined beyond repair and therefore can be further wrecked.” 

“We’ve never done anything like this before in defense class,” Susan Bones said, her eyes bright. 

“It’s a bit more complicated than what we’ve done before, definitely. Hermione and I will show you,” replied Harry. 

“I’m ready when you are, Harry,” Hermione called from the other end of the dueling strip. She had moved to it while he had been talking. 

“You ready also, Ron?” Harry said, but his friend had already thrown up a shimmering shield charm. 

“Should be safe,” said Ron with a lopsided grin.

“Like we said, no destructive spells, but please don’t leave the safety of Ron’s _ Protego _in case one of us screws up,” Harry continued wryly. He turned back toward where Hermione stood. 

“Ready,” Harry said and dodged out of the way of a spiraling _ Petrificus Totalus_. 

“_Protego_!” Harry shouted, and Hermione quickly conjured up one of her own.

“_Stupefy_,” Harry said, following it up with a “_Rictusempra! _”

Hermione summoned one of the empty bookshelves in front of her, blocking them both. “_Incarcerous!” _

_ “Flipendo! _ ” Harry said, sending pieces of the bookshelf flying back toward his friend. She neatly stepped out of its path, but it left her guard open. “_Expelliarmus!” _

The spell bounced harmlessly off her shield. “_Langlock_,” she said, “_Avis! Oppugno! _”

The tongue affixing charm was absorbed into his shield, but the massive swarm of birds had Harry stepping back in alarm. “_Petrificus Totalus_,” he said quickly, and the birds dropped like stone around him. 

Hermione didn’t relent, casting three more spells off in quick succession. Harry began blocking them with the petrified birds one by one. 

“_Stupefy_,” he used again and followed it up with _Titillando _and _ Locomotor Wibbly. _ A crack formed in her shield, and he sent off a quick overpowered stunner. Hermione summoned another bookshelf but Harry was already casting another _ Flippendo, _ then _ Langlock_. The spell broke through her shield completely. 

Before she could call up another, Harry yelled, “_Relashio! _” 

Hermione dropped her wand as hot water exploded against her hand. It fell to the ground and rolled into the side of her shoe. She retrieved it with an easy smile, and Harry knew his own expression mirrored hers. Dueling was more than just useful practice, it was _fun_. The three of them had practiced over the past weeks leading up to this meeting, but it felt different when others were watching. 

“Well, that was that,” Harry said, smothering his grin into something more serious as he turned towards the rest of the D.A. Adrenaline was still coursing through his body like streaks of lightning. “A basic duel.”

Fred whistled from the back. “Here, here! It was impressive for a couple of kids.”

Harry shook his head, laughing outright as Ron’s head snapped around. “Oi–you’re only two years older than us! You sure you can do any better?” 

“Better than you, dear brother,” George said, his lips twitching in a way that only meant that he was looking for trouble. 

“Do _not _start that,” said Hermione firmly as she came up from behind him. The twins didn’t look even a bit remorseful. 

“Right, so before we begin this, I have a few things to say,” said Harry before any sort of argument could start in full. “It may not be talked about in our past defense textbooks, but shielding charms and using objects to block spells aren’t the only ways of safely dodging. If you can, simply moving out of the way of an easy to dodge spell is actually really beneficial.” 

“But why do that when you can successfully cast _ Protego_?” Susan asked. 

Harry took a deep breath and released it slowly before speaking again. “During the last war, part of the reason we were losing so badly is because Voldemort trained his followers from nothing into ruthless fighters. Some of them are able to destroy _ Protego _with a single spell. If you only know how to hide behind a shield, you’ll be dead within minutes.” 

The smiles and the excitement slipped from many of their faces.

“So knowing when to physically dodge something instead of trying to shield it can save your life,” Susan said briskly. Harry looked at her and she shrugged. “My aunt’s trained me a bit, but we’ve never gotten this far.”

“Yeah, and I don’t mean to say that _ Protego _isn’t useful–it very much is. Trying to dodge everything is disorientating and you’ll probably miss what your opponent is doing and get caught. Trying to block everything with physical objects might block your line of sight, making it difficult to see. Using shield charms, well I’ve already talked about that,” Harry said. “You have to find the right amount of balance.”

“_I’ve _never heard anything about this,” Zacharias Smith said, and Harry stifled a groan. “Even in dueling lessons I’ve taken before.”

“Dueling is different,” said Harry, hiding the edge in his voice. “It’s a sport, it’s made to be fair, but obviously I’m not an expert. I barely know enough to teach you.” 

“You’ve taught us a lot,” Seamus protested. 

“Yeah, don’t be too hard on yourself,” Fred chimed in. “Do you really think just anyone could teach us the Patronus charm? Most of the ministry I reckon can barely cast a usable shield charm, let alone one that would actually stand against a few spells, and you’ve taught us that too.”

“Maybe that’s true, but in a real fight everything is different,” Harry said, voice going flat. “You’ll probably be terrified, so your decision-making skills will be in the bin. Your hands might be shaking so much that you can barely hold onto your wand. You’ll miss things after it’s too late to react to them. Your words might jumble, so you can’t cast spells correctly. Adrenaline might help you in the moment, but it’ll leave you feeling weak soon after. A fight against a death eater wouldn’t be like a duel. Dueling is fun, it’s exciting. A real fight in which your life is at stake is nauseatingly scary.”

“And he’s the expert on life-threatening situations,” Ron muttered with a jerk of his thumb toward Harry. It was enough to break the heavy atmosphere, and Harry laughed a little.

“Okay, enough of that,” he said, leaving the dueling strip. “Who’d like to go first? Same rules apply, don’t worry if it goes really fast. We’ll be doing this for a few weeks so everyone will get to go more than once.” 

“What do you say, Fred?” said George, already moving toward the middle of the room. 

“I say let’s show them what some actual creativity looks like,” Fred said with a grin, taking a place at the other side of the dueling strip. 

Harry settled next to where Hermione was standing. “This will be interesting.”

She eyed him with a bit of concern. “Do you think they’ll stick to the rules?”

“We’re about to see spells neither of us will recognize if they follow the rules or not,” said Harry with a snort. “Not a chance.”

“Should we stop them?”

“Are you kidding? I want to see what they do,” Harry said with a small laugh and yelped when she elbowed him in the ribs. He cast _ Protego _in front of them just in case. “Start whenever you’re ready!” 

Harry quickly realized that Fred and George would be frustrating opponents, even on their own. They were extremely quick to react and traded spells even faster than Harry and Hermione had been. It wasn’t the first time Harry wondered why exactly they attended D.A. meetings when they were so clearly past the limited things Harry could teach, but that could be said for all of the seventh years attending. 

About half of the D.A. got to duel that night. Other than a few accidental bruises, they all walked away unharmed. It was one of the best meetings they’d ever had as Colin Creevy and a few others told him. He returned to the common room to rush through his owed work that he’d normally wait until Sunday night to do. He had plans over the weekend that couldn’t be cut short to finish homework. Before he went to bed that night, he spent nearly an hour strengthening his Occlumency shields as best he could. 

Harry woke early on Saturday morning. He showered and dressed quickly, leaving the dorm room before anyone woke up and saw him. He lingered for a moment at the bottom of the steps, but Hermione wasn’t in the common room, and he left without scrutiny. 

The Great Hall was serving fresh fruit and porridge, neither of which Harry had much of an appetite for. He didn’t have an appetite for anything, really. The locket hanging around his neck was suspiciously cool on his skin, like it had already died. The thought nearly petrified him. It had to know what Harry was about to do, and it had done nothing. He had been preparing for this moment for weeks. He had taken hours over the course of days along with the hour the night before to strengthen his Occlumency shields. It was the safest he would ever be, but it didn’t feel like enough. 

Harry forced a spoonful of porridge into his mouth and chewed slowly. It tasted like ash in his mouth, lumpy and cold as he swallowed. A few more bites, and Harry could have no more. It seemed to only get stuck in his throat. His mind was filling up with all the fears he had kept down. He had spent the week purposely not thinking about what he was planning, what he was about to do, but he could do it no more. He placed the spoon carefully back in his bowl and stood up, his movement stilted. His skin had gone clammy under his robes, and he struggled to keep a blank expression as he left the Great Hall for the moving staircases. 

It had been years since he’d been inside the second floor girls' lavatory, but it looked exactly as it had when he and Ginny had emerged before covered in grime and blood. He ran his fingers over the sink taps, checking one at a time for the small snake engraved under it. It didn’t take him long to find, but he stood still, hesitating at the last moment. Reluctantly, after a few seconds of this, Harry opened his mouth and hissed _open_. 

The smell of sulfur sparked in the air as the sinks began to shift apart. The scent was wrong, like corrosive magic and decaying animals. Apprehension ran like a shiver down his spine. In his second year when they had jumped into the cavity, Harry had felt dread at the sight of it, but Ron’s presence had given him some comfort, some tiny smidge of bravery. Dread was all he had left now. 

It was filthy at the bottom. The walls and floor narrow and damp and cold, littered with animal bones from hundreds of years worth of meals. He passed by an enormous stretch of shed snakeskin, through the caved-in wall, and finally to the large, circular door, twin snakes carved by stone into its front. Harry opened that too and stepped inside the chamber with a shaky, uncertain breath, but he froze in the doorway. Dark, sticky blood had dried around the basilisk’s head. The rest of its body laid untouched by time, as though it had only been a few short hours since it had died, rather than years, but it was still now, and it would never move again. Slowly, Harry moved out from the door and closer to its corpse. 

He had barely thought about the basilisk since he had left it in the chamber the first time, but now up close, Harry finally had a chance to truly look at it. Its scales were bright, poisonous green, and unlike any snake he had seen before, it had horns on the top of its head almost like the dragons he had seen the year before. Its body was enormous, thicker than the trunk of a tree, each individual scale larger than one of his hands. If it hadn’t been trying to kill him, Harry might call it stunning. A thousand year old beast, slain by a boy. 

His footsteps echoed through the chamber. He could put it off no longer. A basilisk fang laid on the floor a little ways away. It could have even been the one he had used to destroy the diary. He pulled the locket up and over his head and sent it falling to the ground with a sharp, brittle noise. “This is it then,” Harry said flatly, gripping the basilisk fang in his hand. It trembled slightly. It felt much too easy. 

Without warning, Harry brought the fang down on the locket’s face, but it only bounced off and sent the fang flying from his grasp. The sound echoed jarringly through the hall before teetering off into an eerie silence. Suddenly, Harry felt as though he was no longer alone down in the chamber. 

“No–no–” he swore, lunging for the basilisk fang. Sweat clung to the back of his shirt as he returned back to the locket. He would have to open it. 

Just the thought of it made him feel cold. Instinctively, he had always known opening it would mean releasing it, but there was no other way. Harry swallowed, raising his hand just over the locket again. 

“_Open_,” Harry whispered. There was a faint click, like a small gear moving. It smelled like something rotten. He sent his hand crashing down toward the locket without waiting a moment longer. The top snapped open. 

There was an eye the color of carmine, like thick, fresh blood oozing from a wound. The fang missed, ricocheting away from him. Harry fell back onto the floor, his hands meeting damp, slick stone. Smoke burst from the locket and grew into a giant, bubbling cloud of agonized faces and hideous monsters. Harry choked on his breath and scrambled back, his heart beating wildly with fear. He had run out of time. Harry pulled out his wand, raising it toward the shadow.

The smoke began to collapse, condensing into a shape. False flesh and bone made of smoke. Pristine robes, well-groomed features, and dark, rust-colored eyes. 

“Hello, Harry,” Tom Riddle said pleasantly. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”


	16. Chapter 16

Harry clambered to his feet as he kept his wand pointing straight toward the mirage. Blood roared in his ears. He had been tricked. The game between them was over and he had wholly lost. 

“You made me come down here, didn’t you?” said Harry, trying to keep his voice steady.

“The one place in Hogwarts which is utterly isolated and warded for privacy? Of course I did,” Riddle said. He looked real, tangible, a body threaded together by complex magic. “Who would ever think to come looking for you down here?”

Harry flinched, taking a half-step back. “I should have known. Coming down here was–“ He broke off, unable to say more. His entire plan was _absurd_. 

“Naturally I wasn’t going to allow you to turn me over to Professor Dumbledore. He might have killed me.”

“Professor Dumbledore would destroy you in an instant,” Harry said sharply, ignoring how his hands shook. “You aren’t a person. You’re a cursed object, a _ thing_.”

Irritation flashed across Riddle’s face. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, and terrifyingly, he began to move closer. 

On instinct, Harry cast _ Incarcerous, _but the man only stepped out of the spell’s path.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Riddle said with something close to delight. “What else can you do?”

His Occlumency shields were in tatters. A strangled sound escaped Harry’s lips as he began casting one spell after another. _Confringo,_ _Expulso, Locomotor Mortis_–none of it worked. The man dodged each one by simply stepping out of their path faster than Harry could keep up with. His breath came out ragged, and the spells he used began to verge into the unknown as he pulled on magic that came not from his own knowledge but through the connection that was now torn wide open. 

“That’s enough,” Riddle said after Harry had shot the entrail-expelling curse toward him. “You’re going to hurt yourself going on like that.”

Sweat ran down the back of his neck. “_Confringo–” _

Something solid connected with his stomach and Harry gagged as he folded over. His wand slipped from his fingers and landed in another’s. Slowly, Harry’s gaze traveled upwards to meet those horrible red eyes. Riddle’s mouth slanted.

“What do you want?” Harry said, holding his sides as he gritted his teeth. “If you’re going to use me to resurrect like the dairy tried to use Ginny, you might as well get on with it.”

“What, no more fight left in you?” Riddle said, spinning Harry’s wand idling between his fingers. “I’m disappointed. You seemed like the type to _never give up. _”

Harry let out a rough, sputtering laugh. “What can I do against you?” He said. His back met stone as he sagged against the side of Salazar Slytherin’s statue. “This was all just some game to you, wasn’t it? Was it fun leaving those notes for me to find?”

“It was a tiny bit amusing, yes,” Riddle said with a laugh. “You must forgive me. It’s been so long since I was awake, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Forgive you?” Harry replied incredulously as the stone dug into his back. He didn’t move. He was missing something. 

“That’s right,” Riddle said, tapping the wand on his other hand. “You don’t understand a thing, do you?” 

Harry didn’t respond, and the other man sighed, the smile fading from his mouth.

“Imagine for a moment, that you went to bed one night and woke up years later to find that an imposter has been walking around as _you, _spreading chaos and spouting propaganda for a political party you’ve never believed in. How would you feel, Harry?” Riddle said. 

“He’s not your imposter,” Harry said. “He’s _ you_.” 

“Like that makes it any better,” Riddle said and his expression twisted into a sneer. “He’s completely lost his mind. For one he acts as though he actually _ believes in blood purity_.”

“And you don’t?” Harry said skeptically.

“Of course not,” said Riddle derisively. “I’m a half-blood like you. Sure I may have feigned interest during my schooling years...but I was just using those fools.” 

“It seems like they used you instead,” said Harry, not being able to help himself. 

“Do _not_,” Riddle said, voice dropping to something dangerous, attention returning solely to him. Harry felt all the muscles in his arms and legs lock up in response. The man in front of him did not feel like a memory trapped inside an object, or a curse by dark magic given form. He felt alive. 

“Listen to me very carefully as I am offering you a deal,” Riddle continued coldly. “My original is unsalvageable. He must die. While I don’t understand the exact reasons for why, it is clear that you must be the one to do it. You’ll never be ready to face him with the kind of schooling you’re getting now. I can help you with that.”

Harry stared. From the moment the locket had opened and that mass of smoke had risen from it, he had known down to his core that he was _dead_. He had gotten lucky with the dairy. It had been younger, and Harry had help then. He didn’t have it now. And yet. 

“You really expect me to believe that?” Harry said at last, when he could no longer stand the silence. “I’ve seen the worst of you, Tom. I know exactly what kind of man you are.”

Riddle seemed to smile at the sound of his own name. “I know you do. That’s my fault, unfortunately, too many pieces of me in your brain at once.” 

Harry flinched at the words. “What even are you? How many did Voldemort make?”

“More than a few. Unfortunately, we didn’t know the consequences before it was too late.”

“But why would you–“ Harry stopped, his mouth shutting for an instant. Deep down, he already knew. “Immortality.” 

“Yes, immortality,” Riddle echoed calmly. “There were side effects.”

Harry slipped to the ground, his legs feeling as though they had turned to liquid. Slowly, Riddle reached out, wand held out in his hand. A twisted display of a peace-offering. Harry took it back anyway.

“So you’re actually–” Harry shook his head violently, wand grasped in his hands. “You’re immortal.”

“Yes.”

Harry let out a little laugh that was more hysteric than humorous. “Right.”

“Surely you already knew?” Riddle said, beginning to look impatient. 

“No one knows for sure,” Harry said wearily. “How am I even supposed to defeat Voldemort if he’s–”

“That’s what I can help you with,” interrupted Riddle. “Like I said, you need me.”

“If you really wanted to help me, why did you spend the last six months terrorizing me then?” Harry snapped. 

“Look beyond that.”

“Shut _ up_.” 

Riddle sighed, turning his back on him. It felt like an insult, as though Harry wasn’t even considered a minor threat. The man moved further down the chamber and picked up the locket. Harry had almost forgotten about it in the wake of everything else, but he remembered it now. It dangled between Riddle’s fingers and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. An unwanted thought whispered in the back of his head. Harry wanted it back. 

“I’ve been strong enough for awhile now, Harry,” Riddle said, striding toward him. “I could have taken your body anytime but I haven’t. Think on that.”

“I don’t need to think about anything. You’ve been walking around in my body for months,” Harry spat, and got shakily to his feet.

“I mean permanently,” corrected Riddle, “I’m a good actor, no one would have known.”

“Hermione met you once for a few minutes and knew it wasn’t me.” 

“But that was easily dealt with, wasn’t it?” he replied lightly, stopping a few feet away from him. 

Harry’s mouth twisted, old guilt welling up. A lump in his throat, a twinge in his stomach. “What did you do to her?”

“Just a simple memory modifying charm. I’m rather good at those.”

“I know.” His mouth went dry. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe you.”

The locket bounced in Riddle’s hand as he flicked it into the air, once, twice. Harry’s eyes followed its path. “There are many things in this world you don’t understand. Things I found in my youth that are beyond most people’s comprehension. My original cannot have access to them.”

“Your explanation is that you’re trying to save the wizarding world from yourself? Try a more believable lie.”

“Oh, but it isn’t a lie. I was going to be great,” Riddle hissed, suddenly too-close. “The world was to know my name. I had all the time in the world.”

“The world does know your name, Tom,” Harry said in turn. “They’re disgusted by it.”

“They_ fear it,_” Riddle roared, and Harry found himself stumbling backwards, pressed back up against the statue again. There was something inherently dangerous about the man. Something that had Harry pausing, his mouth shut. “I’m nothing more than a nightmare to them. I wanted to be–I imagined my future differently.“

“So why then, if you’re such a saint, did you play this sick game with me for half a year?” Harry said, his voice quiet. “I want a real answer.”

The man hesitated for a moment. “I never said I was a good person, Harry,” Riddle offered at last, his voice sleek. “I’m simply offering to help you with a mutual problem.” 

“Do you know what I think?” Harry said, and continued before the other man could respond. “You think nothing of me. I’m nothing more than an insect to you, a simple tool to help you escape the barriers of the locket. Voldemort is in your way because he’s _you_, and there can’t be more than one. You help me kill him, and then you’ll kill me to resurrect yourself. Am I missing anything?”

“You’re oddly committed to the idea that this all ends in your death. Why exactly do I need to kill you in this made-up scenario?” Riddle returned. 

“We’re enemies,” said Harry, suddenly furious. “Of course you’re going to kill me.”

“And you’re intentionally being obstinate. I just told you I have no interest in killing you. I’m trying to become your ally.” 

“My ally?” Harry said with a wild laugh. “You want us to be _ friendly_?”

“Is it so wrong that I want to live again?” Riddle said, taking another step closer. Harry’s wand steadied on him and he stopped. 

“You’ve killed so many people and ruined so many lives,” Harry said, his voice darkening. “What do you think?” 

“I am not Voldemort.”

“By the time you picked up that locket, how many had you already killed? Hepzibah Smith–”

Riddle groaned, leaning his head back. “Who cares about old Hepzibah Smith. I’m offering to teach you magic that will keep you alive, and all that I want in return is that you don’t destroy the locket or turn me over to someone who will. It’s a good deal.”

“A good deal for a fool, maybe.”

Riddle rolled his neck and his eyes once again settled on him. “Then we have a problem, Harry. I can’t let you walk out of here without a deal because I know you’ll take the locket straight to the headmaster.”

“Of course I will.”

“Yes, right,” Riddle said, words deliberately slow. “So what will it be? We could go back to how it was before the break, a simple memory charm would do it. That might be nice for you, really. You took comfort in me before you realized what I truly was.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Harry, and was horrified by how his voice cracked. 

“Of course I would. But if you don’t like the sound of that, then make a deal with me,” Riddle said evenly. “It’s as easy as that.”

It was hard to think without his Occlumency shields or the locket, but even without being able to think rationally, Harry knew there was no way out of this. He would have to play at Riddle’s game, at least for a little while. 

“You can’t possess me anymore,” Harry said, hating the words that escaped his lips. “No memory charms or manipulating my thoughts to make me do what you want.”

“Of course I won’t. We’d be working together then, and that’s no way to treat an ally,” Riddle said. His voice was persuasive, charming even, and Harry didn’t believe a word of it. 

Harry lowered his wand. “Give me the locket.”

Riddle took a final step and dropped the locket into his hand. For a moment he let it rest there, a weight between his fingertips, indulging in the connection between himself and Voldemort closing. Then Harry turned, hurling the locket as far as he could into one of the deep basins of water. He felt the loss immediately as his thoughts abruptly spun into chaos again, but that didn’t matter. Riddle disappeared like a cloud of smoke, and Harry took off like a shot toward the entrance of the chamber. 

He was halfway through the door when something grabbed his arm and sent him spinning into the tunnel’s wall. A gasp was forced from his lungs as he crashed into the stone, Riddle’s furious eyes freezing him in his grasp. 

“Don’t _test me_,” Riddle hissed, gripping Harry’s chin like a vice, his other arm pinning him to the wall. For the first time since their encounter, Harry could truly see the monster Riddle had grown up to be looking back at him. A cracked mirror in Voldemort’s image. Harry stared wordlessly for a moment, before attempting to shake the man off him. 

“Get off,” Harry snapped. 

“And why should I do that, Harry?” Riddle said with derision. “Didn’t we have a deal? Why should I believe you won’t betray me?”

“We never had a deal!” Harry snarled, all but baring his teeth at the other man. Riddle was still far too close, arm braced against Harry’s chest. His face burned in the man’s grip. “I never accepted anything, not that it matters. I have no choice in this and you know it.”

"Then behave,” Riddle said coldly. Abruptly, he released his hold on him and stepped back, but Harry was still trapped in the alcove. He didn’t have a chance to react before the locket was dropped over his head. The weight of Voldemort’s thoughts faded, but it only served to make Harry angrier. 

“You show your true colors at last,” Harry said waspishly. “Everything about you is a lie.”

“The lie is a lot more pleasant, though, isn’t it?” Riddle said. Harry took an uncertain step back, and the man’s mouth quirked at the sight of it. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” replied Harry furiously. “I’m not afraid of you.”

His words seemed to amuse the man. “Is that so?”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead he began walking down the tunnel, hands clenched in fists, animal bones grinding to dust under his shoes. Behind him, Harry heard Riddle sigh. 

“Well, if you don’t want to play nice,” Riddle called from down the tunnel. Harry barely avoided crashing into the man as he suddenly appeared before him. He reeled backwards.

Riddle looked entirely unruffled as he spoke again. “Tonight you will go to the Room of Requirement where we can talk. Not that dueling room you always create. You will think _a place to hide things_. Some of my belongings from my own time at Hogwarts are there, and a few of those will be useful to you.” 

Harry didn’t reply, instead attempting to go around him, anxiety and fear and desperation spiking. Riddle caught him by his arm. 

“Agreed?” Riddle said, his voice going cold, the grip on his arm growing tighter. “Say it, Harry.”

“Fine,” Harry bit out, looking away. “After dinner.” 

Riddle released him with a thin laugh. “One last thing. I agreed not to possess you anymore, and that holds true. But if you so much as take a step toward any one of your professors or friends with the intention of handing me over, I will take over your body.”

“You said that already,” Harry said roughly. 

“But I don’t think you quite understand what I mean by it,” Riddle said in turn. “You’re terrified by what I might do to you, but you’re really not thinking about the bigger picture.”

“What do you mean?” Harry said, attention swiftly turning back to the man, the contents of his stomach twisting uneasily. 

“Perhaps you should be afraid of what I might do to all your little friends instead,” Riddle said, and clearly enjoyed Harry’s flinch back from the words. 

“You–“ Harry said, but broke off. The words wouldn’t leave his mouth. He steeled himself. “I wont do anything.”

It would be easier if his appearance matched his insides. Tom Riddle grinned at him, a soft curve of his mouth, not a speck of the cruelty in sight. “I’m so glad to hear that. Tonight, then.” 

Harry felt the man return to the locket, like the ending of a storm. He was alone in the tunnel, but the thought didn’t provide him with any sort of relief. He felt numb. He felt _defeated_. 

By the time Harry finally managed to climb out of the tunnel and into the girls’ lavatory, he was completely exhausted. There were small divots in the stone that served as handholds, but it wasn’t an easy task. He left in a haze toward the Gryffindor Tower, and upon arrival, quickly went upstairs to his dorm room. It was cleared out except for Seamus, who nearly always slept in on weekends. Harry quietly snuck inside, collapsing onto his bed face-first. The locket dug into his skin at the awkward angle, but he ignored the feeling. Everything hurt. He had been manipulated and threatened and caught in a deal. He shared a body with–with–

Harry couldn’t bear to think about it anymore. He shut his eyes, fingers tangling in his blankets. He had to do something, but was far too late for that now. They had struck a bargain and his friends' lives were collateral. 

Seamus eventually woke up. Harry listened to the boy’s groggy, stumbling footsteps as he wandered in and out of their shared bathroom, and then downstairs to the common room. Later, Harry heard footsteps return up to the room. They stopped at the foot of his bed. Hesitation. Those too, eventually left, and Harry was finally left alone. He didn’t move. It was as though all his strength had been sapped from every limb, every muscle. He could barely keep his eyes open.

When Harry woke, escaping from that awful dark corridor in the ministry, the sky outside was filled with stars. He groaned, sitting up as his scar throbbed. He needed to rebuild his Occlumency shields, but he wasn’t about to test the locket’s patience again. He pulled the invisibility cloak out of his trunk and wrapped it around himself before shuffling down the stairs. The portrait door opened to let a younger year inside, and Harry used the opportunity to escape out into the corridor. He dreaded every step closer to his destination, but not going would be worse. He didn’t need the locket to tell him explicitly to know that. The seventh floor was quiet as it always was, and Harry paced that empty stretch of wall, wishing for a room filled with hidden things. Harry stepped inside and came abruptly to a halt. 

Books stacked on top of books stacked on top of trunks, broken chairs, desks, and cauldrons. There was a heap of broomsticks off a little ways, glass baubles, and rows and rows of potion ingredients perched precariously atop their broken shelves. A dusty, half-covered harp stood off in the distance. It was a maze of lost things. 

“Incredible, isn’t it?” A voice said from behind him. Harry didn’t turn, but every muscle in his body seemed to tense. 

“I found it my second year. I wasn’t well liked then, a muggleborn in Slytherin. My things were always going missing, or ruined beyond saving. I had a lot of things to hide.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Harry said, his voice flat.

“I’m just making pleasant conversation.”

“Well don’t,” Harry spat, turning toward the man and nearly falling into the nearest stack of books. His vision spun unpleasantly. “What is this?”

“It takes a lot of energy to have a fully materialized form like this. You’re wasting it.”

“You’re using my magic,” Harry said, beginning to feel sick. 

“That’s right,” Riddle said agreeably. “So let’s be quick about this. Two times in one day is a bit too much. I’m sure you feel exhausted.”

“Don’t pretend to care.”

“Of course I care,” Riddle said in that too-pleasant voice of his. “You’re useless to me with magical exhaustion.”

Harry was afraid to move. Riddle clucked his tongue and moved toward him. 

“I’m sure you’re feeling rather light-headed,” Riddle said, clasping Harry’s arm. Reluctantly, he let himself be guided to an old chair smelling slightly of mold. “Sit here and don’t move.” 

Harry watched the man disappear down an aisle of old trunks and falling-apart textbooks. An emotion like something halfway between anger and panic curdled in his gut. Riddle’s mask of civility terrified him far more than his true face did. Voldemort did as he pleased. Threatening, torturing, and killing were all easily predicted. Nothing about this version of him seemed predictable. Nothing about him was real. 

Riddle returned a few minutes later, looking distinctly irritated. “Unfortunately things have shifted around here more than I had thought. It’s a waste, really.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “A waste of my time. You seem perfectly capable of walking around by yourself. Why bring me?”

The man hesitated for a split second, but it was all Harry needed to understand. 

“You can’t go very far away from me,” he said.

“Don’t get any ideas,” replied Riddle coolly. 

But Harry was getting plenty of ideas. The cavernous space below the outside walkways were hundreds of feet down at least. 

Riddle sighed. “Don’t be difficult, Harry. Your thoughts about me are very hostile.”

He lurched in his seat. “Stay out of my head.”

“I don’t need to be listening in to know what you’re thinking about. I just want to help you.”

“Liar,” Harry snapped without thinking, and tensed up again. “You just want your body back.” 

“But I’m not going to hurt you,” Riddle said, his voice souring. “How many times do I need to assure you of that? I’m simply going to teach you how to fight properly.”

“That’s funny,” began Harry testily. “Voldemort has promised me similarly in the past, and just like with him, I’d have to be thick to believe it.”

Riddle continued speaking as though he hadn’t heard him. “I noticed that despite the sort of things you were saying last night to that ragtag group of yours, you followed none of your own advice during our fight earlier today.”

“I was terrified,” Harry snarled. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

“But you don’t believe that anymore, do you?” Riddle said, voice darkening.

“I just said–”

“Harry,” Riddle interrupted, a sneer twisting his features. “If you really thought I was going to kill you, you wouldn’t still be sitting here. Let’s not play these silly games with one another.”

“If you haven’t noticed I can’t bloody move right now!” Harry exploded. 

“If you really thought you were going to die in here, you would have tried to get out anyway. I’ve spent enough time in your head to know that.”

Harry’s mouth shut. 

“You haven’t tried to escape me because you know I can help you. You know you _ need _ my help.”

“I tried to get rid of you down in the chamber. I don’t–” 

“You knew that wasn’t going to work,” said Riddle, looking as though he was beginning to lose that eerie patience Voldemort had none of. 

“Then tell me,” Harry spat, leaning forward into the man’s space. “Tell me why. Tell me why I should believe that you won’t kill me? Tell me why I shouldn’t do everything I possibly can to get rid of you. Make me believe you.”

Riddle blinked, before a smile widened across his features. “I can’t tell you that yet.”

“Why not?” Harry demanded, anger itching under his skin as though it were alive. 

“Because you’re not ready to hear it yet.”

“What does that even mean?” Harry said, his jaw tightening. 

“It means,” Riddle said slowly, “that I will tell you someday, but not tonight.”

“That isn’t good enough.”

“But it isn’t up to you,” Riddle said, smiling thinly. Harry was suddenly reminded of his words down in the tunnel, and unwillingly found the fight leaving him. 

“If you hurt my friends, I will never work with you,” Harry said bitterly. 

Riddle laughed, as though he had said a particularly funny joke. “It’s as though you think you actually have a choice in all this.”

“You’re going to force me to learn how to fight?” said Harry flatly. 

“That’s right,” Riddle said lightly. “I can force you to do whatever I want.”

Harry went silent. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end. He had known that. Known it for months, and simply tried not to think about it. 

“Then why pretend I have a choice?” Harry said at last, when he had found his voice again. 

“I told you earlier, didn’t I? I want us to be _ friendly_.” 

His voice was subdued. “Why?”

Riddle sighed, and moved away from where Harry was sitting, running his fingers along a dusty stack of books. “I don’t want to be remembered as only a monster. I suppose I want a fresh start. I’ll need you for that.”

“Because you need Voldemort to be dead? Why don’t you just do it then?”

“Do you really think a horcrux can kill the original?” Riddle said, turning toward him with a thin smile. “Do you think _ I _ would allow such a thing?”

“But why does it have to be me then?” Harry said, gritting his teeth. “Why not get someone close to him like a death eater to attach yourself to. It would be easier.”

“Unfortunately, it has to be you.”

“Why?”

“You don’t need to know that yet. Now, onto more important matters–”

“How is that not important?” Harry shouted. “Don’t you want my cooperation?”

“The problem, Harry,” Riddle said coolly, “Is that I don’t know any more than you about it.”

His mouth shut, and then opened again. “What?”

“There is a reason Voldemort has been after you since you were a child, but I’ve been asleep for decades. I don’t know what that is yet.”

“_You’re lying_–”

“I grow tired of this,” Riddle interrupted, his voice a warning. “Now listen to me. You will check out two books to start out with, _ A Memoir by a Dueling Master _by Cyril Hold and _ Fire Theorem _by Noel Ganders. Start reading those.”

His fingernails dug into his flesh, his mouth twisting. “Right. Now that I can go to the library again.”

“Yes,” Riddle said, showing his teeth with a smile. “Since your Monday and Wednesday nights are already filled, we will meet on Friday night.”

“I’m not giving up D.A. I won’t go if we have a meeting that night.”

“You’ll go when I tell you to,” Riddle said, his eyes flashing. “But we can reschedule. Tuesday will work just as well.”

“Fine,” Harry bit out. 

“Then I’ll see you Tuesday night. I had hoped to find a few things tonight, but we can return here another night. I stay any longer and I doubt you’ll make it back to your dorm room,” Riddle said. His lip curled. “You look...unwell.” Then the man was gone, the locket going warm under his robes, and Harry was left alone again, his mind spinning. 

Every mild word that came out of Riddle’s mouth felt like a threat. Harry felt as though he were trapped in a spiderweb. Pinned down. There was a reason the locket wasn’t just killing him, and Harry knew that meant nothing pleasant. Riddle was a cat playing with a mouse before it ate it. 

Guilt and self-disgust twisted around in his head. He was too _weak_. 

He got unsteadily to his feet, hating how they wobbled beneath him. It was true that they were trembling because of his magic being drained. It was fear too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They've finally met! I've wanted to write this chapter for a long time and it's finally here, lol  
Thank you so much to everyone reading/giving kudos/commenting its really helped keep me going! ❤️


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